


Dangerous

by SoManyJacks



Series: Where did all these nugs come from? [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Cullistair, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Established Relationship, F/M, F/M/M threesome, Flashbacks, Fluff, Frottage, Humor, Light D/s, Minor canon divergence, Multi, Nugs, Open Relationship, PTSD, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Smut, old flames rekindled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4420730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Alistair makes an official state visit to Skyhold after the defeat of Corypheus. He gets caught up between his old friend Cullen Rutherford and his attraction to Vira Lavellan. Also: cheese, caboodling, nugs. What more could you want?</p>
<p>Takes place sometime between Dread Wolf's Legacy and Everywhere, Always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Formal Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another one-shot that got away from me. Barely enough plot to hold the porn together. Really, really tried to curtail the angst on this one, I promise. 
> 
> Comments are my favorite part!

“Inquisitor Vir’athawen Lavellan, allow me the honor to present his royal majesty, King Alistair Theirin.” Vira never knew what was going on when it came to introductions. Sometimes Josie introduced someone to the Inquisitor, sometimes the other way round. Sometimes it was an honor, sometimes a privilege. In this case, Vira had received specific instructions: bow, don’t curtsy, and give your hand only if he asks for it.

This was the second state visit they’d hosted after Corypheus’ defeat, but it would not be the last. Empress Celene had graced the Inquisition with her presence in Skyhold the month before. She’d brought half of Orlais with her, and the week-long visit was chockablock with stultifying events: banquets, speeches, balls. It was dreadful.

With that precedent set, Vira wasn’t particularly looking forward to the Ferelden visit. At least King Alistair seemed more laid back, traveling with only a small retinue of soldiers. And he was easy on the eyes. Vira bowed in the Dalish style at the handsome redhead. “Your majesty,” she murmured respectfully.

“Your worship,” he responded with a tilt of his head. He held his hand out, palm up.

Vira fought the urge to sigh. He was one of _those._ A _hand kisser._ Why couldn’t royalty just shake hands like everyone else? Keeping her face neutral, she gave him her hand. He raised it to his lips. Unlike the Orlesians, Alistair actually brushed the back of her fingers with slightly parted lips, staring into her eyes as he did so. Vira blinked in astonishment at the intimacy of the gesture, a flush rising to her cheeks. It was.... well, it was a surprise, to be sure.

What was even more surprising was the snort Cullen ripped as he stood beside her in his dress uniform.

“What?” the King said, looking at Cullen. “I’m perfectly allowed and you know it.” A saucy grin played around the corners of his mouth as he looked back to Vira. “Privileges of command and all that.”

“Maker’s breath. I cannot believe you sometimes,” Cullen muttered, still standing at attention.

Vira glanced at him, confused to see the hint of a smile on the Commander’s face as well. “You... know each other, I take it?” Cullen hadn’t mentioned that he knew the King of Ferelden. Seemed like a rather large oversight on his part.

“A bit,” Alistair smirked.

“A _bit?_ Did you hit your head? Is your memory going?” Cullen scoffed, breaking his posture. He folded his hands across his chest and rolled his shoulders.

“Commander, please!” Josephine looked as if she was about to have a stroke.

“Have we quite finished with the boring bits?” Alistair asked no one in particular. “I hate the boring bits.”

“I’m willing to forgo the rest if you are,” Vira said carefully, still somewhat taken aback by the whole exchange.

“Good, good. This robe itches something awful. I need to change.” Alistair shrugged and scratched the back of his head.

Josephine spluttered, utterly at a loss.

Vira grinned. “I think you may have rendered our ambassador speechless, your majesty. That's a first.”

Josephine recovered enough to offer to give a tour of Skyhold once the king had changed out of his state robes. After he withdrew to the guest quarters, Vira and Cullen went to her chambers to do the same.

“So... when were you planning to tell me you were close personal friends with the King of Ferelden?” Vira asked, contorting herself to try to reach the buttons on the back of her blouse.

Cullen swatted her hands away and began unbuttoning her top slowly, planting a kiss at every inch of exposed spine. “I thought you knew,” he murmured into her skin.

“Mmm, you keep that up, we’re going to be late for the tour,” Vira grinned.

“Late? We have an hour. I suppose it all depends on how ready for me you are,” Cullen said, his voice a low purr. He replaced the kisses with nibbles at the small of her back. Vira’s breath caught in her throat. Cullen's voice was irresistible to her, and he often used that fact to his advantage.

“Like, that, do you?” he murmured, pushing the blouse forward, off her shoulders, then bringing the flat of his palms to brush against her nipples. “The way you’re shaking, I think you’re almost ready for me now. Should we find out?”

Vira made a muffled groan of assent as his hands slid the fabric of her skirt up over her thighs. She didn’t often favor skirts and dresses, but the way Cullen's hands felt, dragging fistfulls of silk over her skin? Maybe she’d reconsider.

His fingers dipped into her smallclothes. Into _her._ “Oh, dear, Inquisitor. You are _very_ wet,” he noted. “Very ready, I’d say.” He backed her up to the bed, letting her fall backwards to the mattress. Deftly, he pulled her smallclothes down and away. He whipped his belt from the loops, making a crackling sound. The bulge of his erection strained the laces of his trousers. He freed himself from the confining fabric.

Cullen hummed in appreciation at the sight of Vira, still tangled in her skirts, her lip caught between her teeth. “Maker, just look at you,” he said, grinning. “Are you ready?” he asked, palming his length. He lowered himself over her, nuzzling into her neck. “You want it like this, quick and rough? Still in your skirt? I haven’t even kissed you and you’re already dripping for it, aren’t you?” He teased her, ghosting his lips just above hers, letting his breath wash over her.

“Creators yes _please,”_ she panted. Her hips were already moving under him, trying to push herself on to his cock, poised at her entrance.

He thrust, hard, and then again. And again. Vira arched into it as best she could, still confined by the fabric.

Cullen was breathing hard, the airy grunts sounding in time to the motion of his hips. The force of his thrusts decreased in favor of a steady rhythm. He reached down to touch her, rubbing the quivering knot of flesh through a layer of silk. “Mmm, that’s it,” he smiled, letting his eyes fall closed. “I can feel you getting closer,” he said, pumping into her. “Ah, that’s so good. Will you come for me, Inquisitor? I want to feel you come apart with me inside you. Can you do that? Can you come for me?”

His voice washed around her, soft as the silk against her skin. Vira felt the peak hover near; she moaned, frantic for release. Cullen altered his thrusts, holding himself inside her, making tiny, shallow movements, giving her body something to focus on. “That’s it. I can feel it. Oh, yes,” he groaned. _“Fuck,_ Vira, come for me. Come for me.”

The Inquisitor squealed as the mounting pleasure throbbed through her. And then she was there, gasping in relief, her body fucking against him. As she recovered, he ground into her, quick and rough and groaning. She arched against him, aftershocks wracking through her. His own release pulsed into her a few moments later.

After a pause, Cullen drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m afraid you might have to burn this skirt,” he laughed, pulling out of her. “We’ve made rather a mess.”

“Mmmm, I’d say it was worth it, though,” Vira sighed. She stretched languidly on the bed before hopping up to the washbasin, tucked behind a screen in the corner.

“You never answered me, you know,” she said, rooting through her armoire for some clothing. She glanced over her shoulder at Cullen, who still lay on the bed, a relaxed smile on his face.

“Answered you about what?”

“How you know the king.” She pulled on a pair of pants. When he didn’t reply right away, she turned.

Cullen was sitting up and looking at her quizzically. “You really don’t know, do you?” He swung his legs down and padded over to the chest where he kept his clothing.  “He and Solona Amell saved me at Kinloch Hold. It’s common knowledge.”

Vira blinked. “Of course. How stupid of me. I hear all these stories about the Hero of Ferelden and I forget she didn’t travel alone, sometimes.”

Cullen laced his breeches. “I’ve actually known him since we were young. We trained to be Templars together for a time. We grew to be quite close. Frankly, it was probably good that he was conscripted into the Wardens. He’d have made a dreadful Templar.”

“I heard that he and Amell were lovers,” Vira said.

Cullen shrugged a tunic over his shoulders. “Oh yes. They were very wrapped up in each other, the two of them.”

Something in his voice gave Vira pause. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He looked down, smiling wistfully and shaking his head. “I... I had a bit of a crush on Solona. I knew her from the Circle, you see. It was completely impossible, it never would have worked, but still.... When they rescued me, I thought they were desire demons at first. I went on and on about my sinful lusts. I was out of my mind by that point, almost raving.” Cullen pulled his cuirass over his tunic. Vira went behind him to help with the buckles.

“Anyway, he’s a good... he’s a good man,” Cullen said, stuttering a bit. “I’m glad Solona had a few moments of happiness before she....” Cullen sighed and swung his cape around his shoulders. “He’s a good man, and a good king,” Cullen repeated.

“He might be the king, but he’s no Lion of Honnleath,” Vira grinned. “Come on. If we’re late, poor Josie will have conniptions.”

Back at the Great Hall, a minor disaster was brewing. Vira couldn’t quite get a handle on what exactly the problem was - something about murdered couriers. “Your majesty, please accept my profound apologies that I will be unable to conduct the tour. There is a matter to which I simply must attend.” Josephine spoke rapidly, her voice clipped. Vira noted that she didn’t quite meet the king’s eyes. Something was obviously very wrong.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Alistair calmed her, waving his hand. “The world doesn’t stop just because I’m here. Please, attend to whatever it is. I’m sure the Commander will give me a tour.” He looked over at Cullen, smiling innocently.

The Commander’s expression didn’t shift at all. The pause in which he regarded the king blandly, blinking pointedly, spoke of some ancient shared history. “Of course I’d be happy to show you around, your majesty.”

Vira fought the urge to laugh. Clearly, there was more between these two than Cullen had admitted, though whether it was rivalry or affection was still unclear.

Josephine rushed out, almost on the verge of tears. Whatever it was, Vira would find out soon enough.

“Are you coming, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked.

“Oh... I don’t want to spoil a warm reunion,” she said.

Alistair waved dismissively. “Nonsense. Cullen’s like a bad penny. Turns up every few years,” the king said.

“A bad penny?” Cullen frowned. “You’re the one that keeps turning up, not me. I live here, just as I lived at Kinloch and Kirkwall, or have you forgotten that too?”

A runner approached and bowed. “Commander. Dispatch for you.”

Cullen unrolled the parchment. His face hardened and he took a deep breath, his jaw clenched. “I’m sorry, Inquisitor, King Alistair. I must take my leave. I have to see to this right away.” He strode off, heading for the rotunda.

“How rude,” the king said. He looked at Vira. “Well. This is awkward.”

“A bit,” she laughed. “I guess I’m your tour guide for the day. What would you like to see first, your majesty?”

“First, I’d like to see you call me Alistair, because that's my actual name.”

Vira laughed. “Fine, Alistair it is. And please, call me Vira.”

They wandered through the keep somewhat aimlessly. The tour was less awkward than Vira expected. Alistair was quite funny, which put her at ease. Vira found herself laughing almost continuously, to the point where her cheeks were starting to hurt.

Finally, they strolled along the battlements. “You’ll like this part, I think,” Vira said, pausing to lean on the stone wall. “Best place to watch the sun go down. Sunset is my favorite time of day at Skyhold.”

“Is it? My favorite time of the day at the palace is when they bring the cheese ‘round after dinner. Cheese-thirty. Half past cheese. I quite like cheese.” Alistair stared wistfully over the mountains. “Maker, it’s good to be out of Denerim. I do so miss adventuring,” Alistair sighed. “Being a king is fine, keeps me in cheese, you know. But there’s something about waking up in a tent, smelly, dirty, hungry, thinking you’re about to die at any minute... really gets the blood pumping.”

“Please, King Alistair, you’re killing me,” Vira laughed, holding her cheeks in both hands.

“Well that's no good. Leliana, I mean, Divine Victoria, will kill me if you die under my watch.” He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially. “She can do it with bare hands. I’ve seen it.”

Vira noticed that he didn’t lean away again. Of course, neither did she. “I can too, you know. I’m very good with my hands,” she said, her grin playful.

“Ah... ahah... um,” he stammered. Creators, he could’ve been Cullen last year, all bashful blushing. Vira’s grin widened.

“So, you know Leliana and Morrigan, then?” Vira asked, shifting her weight to bring her a bit closer. He was attractive, after all, and something about the way he and Cullen looked at each other made her think that some very interesting times could lay ahead.

“Morrigan.” He shuddered. “She’s not still here, is she? Not taking on the form of a rat or nug or something?” He wheeled around as if she might be right behind him.

“No, she left. You didn’t get along, I take it?”

Alistair barked a laugh. “No. No. Nonononono. Noooooooooo. Scared me to death, that woman. Not to mention the way she looked at me. Like a.... er....”

“Puppy caked in shit?” Vira supplied.

“Yes! Yes, that, _exactly,_ Maker, how did you know?” Alistair’s eyes widened.

“Cullen said the same thing. Though, she didn’t always look at him that way,” Vira winked. The night she and Cullen and Morrigan had spent together had been quite something.

“What do you mean? Cullen... and Morrigan? Really?” Alistair frowned in bafflement. _“Really?”_

She shrugged. “We get up to all sorts of fun here.”

“Do you, now?” He leaned just a bit closer, leaning his arm casually on the stone wall behind her. Well, he tried to - first it slipped a bit, marring the effect somewhat.

Vira snickered. “Are you... flirting with me, your majesty?”

“I... yes. Yes, I am. Doing that. Flirting. Should I not be? You’re not married, are you?” A frown crinkled his forehead.

“Not yet, but you are,” she pointed out.

“Ah yes, the political marriage. Trust me, Anora and I understand each other perfectly well. She has her lovers, and I... well, I... don’t. But I could! I _totally_ could.” It sounded as if he was trying to convince himself.

“And you don’t because...?” Vira shook her head.

“Well I had rather a lot of reasons, but they’re escaping me at the moment. Somehow I find myself a bit distracted.”

Vira gave a throaty laugh. “Do you now? Funny, I’ve got some ideas of my own.”

Alistair looked down at her. “Do they involve... cheese?” He leaned even further, cocking an eyebrow suggestively before giving her a broad wink.

Just as Vira burst into peals of laughter, the door to the tower opened. Cullen walked out, eyes trained on a sheaf of reports. At the sound of Vira’s voice, he stopped dead in his tracks and looked up.

The Commander’s confusion evaporated into a grin. He started to laugh as well.

“What?!?” Alistair snapped, turning to Cullen.

Vira and Cullen looked at each other, a fresh bout of laughter shaking through them.

“Let me guess, Sister Leliana’s report?” Vira pointed at the papers with her chin.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on? Maker, how many times in my life have I said that?” Alistair grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Cullen walked up to Vira, still smiling. “Excuse me, your majesty,” he said, before drawing Vira to him for a breathless kiss.

“Cullen!” Alistair said, leaning well back. “You dirty devil. I had no idea,” he said, looking between them in astonishment. “What - when - I thought she said you were with Morrigan.”

“You told him about Morrigan?” Cullen asked, surprised.

“Alistair and I were merely chatting about our mutual acquaintances.” Vira sniffed.

“Oh, it’s Alistair, now, is it?” Cullen snorted. “Making quite free with my fiancé, aren’t you?” Though he looked at Alistair, Cullen’s hand drifted from the small of Vira’s back rather southward.

“You’re... engaged? Why did no one tell me?” Alistair backed several steps away. “Maker’s breath. Wait, am I not invited to the wedding? Is that why I didn’t know?”

“We’re afraid you’ll eat all the gouda and embarrass yourself. _Again.”_ Cullen said.

“It’s not official,” Vira explained. “And of course you’d be invited. You are Cullen’s king, after all.”

“I am totally that,” Alistair nodded seriously. “Yyyyes. The King. King of Cullen,” he said, drawing out Cullen’s name.

Cullen was shaking his head and grinning. “You’ve really not changed a bit, have you?”

“Have you?” Alistair asked. His look was direct; his goofy smile was gone.

There was a lot of meaning in those words. Vira raised her eyebrows, her gaze flicking back and forth between them. She found she was holding her breath.

“In some ways, yes,” Cullen said, now serious. “But not all.” The half-grin caught under his scar.

The moment stretched, taut as a lute string. Vira cleared her throat. “Well. Far be it from me to interrupt whatever conversation the two of you are _actually_ having, but there’s a few things I need to take care of before dinner, not the least of which is to find out what’s wrong with Josie.”

“Yes, of course,” Cullen said, letting go of her.

“Alistair, we’ve made arrangements for your meals to be taken in your quarters, but you’re free to join us in the dining hall tonight if you like. There’ll be a Wicked Grace game after in the tavern. I’m sure Cullen will help you find the way,” Vira smirked. “Commander, if I might just have a word?”

They walked a few paces away from the still-flustered king. Vira leaned up to Cullen’s ear. “I should’ve known there was more between you than what you told me.”

“I didn’t lie,” he said quickly. “We _were_ close. Ah, _very_ close. I just... Maker’s breath, this is awkward.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure if that particular bit of information was something that he wanted shared, you see. It’s been many years, and things didn’t exactly end on the best.... I didn’t know if it would come up.”

“I’d say it has,” Vira said, glancing over at Alistair. He must’ve been looking at them, because he quickly turned away. “You two have fun, but promise me I get to hear all the details.”

He kissed her gratefully. “Maker, you are too good for me. Are you sure? Wouldn’t you like to.... ah... join us?”

“Oh yes. But later. We have time.” Vira winked. “Get it out of your system first.”

“Well.” He straightened, tugging the creases from his cape. “Time to see if Alistair is still a good boy, then.” Cullen smirked.

Lust flooded through Vira. She was fully aware of what was in store for her when Cullen called her ‘good girl’. “Oh. Oh _my,”_ she breathed.

Cullen’s grin was wicked. “I’ll see you at dinner, my dear.” His goodbye kiss was positively indecent.

 


	2. Good Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Alistair renew their friendship.

Alistair watched as Cullen had a hushed conversation with the Inquisitor. He wheeled about as she caught his eye, embarrassed to be caught looking. He’d rather hoped that maybe she might... he didn’t even finish the thought. Why bother, after all? He realized he shouldn’t have kissed her hand. Damn. Well, he’d never been very good at this.

He hadn’t intended to do it. Not like he made a habit of it, kissing the hands of beautiful women. When he arrived in Skyhold, he maintained the regal facade to which he’d begrudgingly become accustomed. He hated it, of course. The moments in Denerim in which he was safe to truly be himself were few and far between.

So when he approached the throne at Skyhold, his mindset was cranked firmly to ‘King’. The Inquisitor stood, her tiny figure dwarfed by the enormous throne. Maker, she was _stunning._ No one had told him she was so beautiful. Why did noone tell him these things? Anora probably knew and kept it from him. She would.

When Vira bowed, he saw a shadow of boredom and impatience in her eyes. It dawned on him: she hated this as much as he did. In that instant, he became a tiny bit smitten. And so he kissed her hand. It seemed to be going well until Cullen burst that particular bubble by laughing at him. Well, at least now he knew why.

Somehow, he hadn’t been able to keep up the regal pretense after that point. Just as well. It was nice to relax at any rate. He had a grand time with Vira, wandering Skyhold. Her laugh was delightful, and there was a spicy glint in her eye that was absolutely captivating. Too bad that....

Alistair shook the thought from his head. Ah well. She and Cullen made a lovely couple. He snuck a glance over his shoulder and regretted it. They were kissing. It looked like a pretty serious kiss at that. Alistair tried not to think about the last time anyone had kissed him that way. The tally of years was growing longer than he liked. He sighed and looked out over the mountains, trying to stave off the melancholy that threatened to swallow him.

Truth be told, seeing Cullen was harder than he’d thought it would be. They’d had a tumultuous friendship, though that word barely scratched the surface of what they shared. Alistair had fond memories of their sparring bouts. Alistair would always seem to lose, pinned under Cullen; the weight of his body felt so right. Or the stolen moments in the basement or top of the tower, whispered pleas spilling from Alistair’s lips as they touched each other. Cullen seemed to like it. He even took to calling Alistair his ‘good boy’. Even now, after more than a decade, the memory of Cullen's voice haunted his dreams.

“Enjoying the view?” Cullen said from just behind his shoulder.

Alistair nodded. “The Inquisitor was right. The sunset is quite lovely here, isn’t it? I haven’t bothered to look at a sunset in ages. Not quite the same, watching the sun go down over Denerim.”

“Something wrong?” Cullen asked.

“Oh, just... remembering... things.” Alistair’s voice trailed off. “No matter. You seem to be doing well for yourself, eh? Army of your own, beautiful wife-to-be.” He scrounged a smile from somewhere and plastered it on.

“Yes, you seem quite taken with her,” Cullen said, grinning.

“Ah, yes. Look, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have....” Alistair scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

“Lonely, are you? Care to do something about it?” Cullen regarded him calmly, head tilted to the side.

“What? Ah... you... you’re engaged, now, so... I’m confused.” Alistair squinted at him in suspicion. “Aaaaand sweating. Wonderful. Confused and sweating,” he grumbled to himself.

Cullen smiled. “Vira is very accommodating under certain situations. She practically insisted I conclude your tour personally.”

“By the maker, are you... are you _serious?”_ Alistair blurted.

Cullen blinked in confusion. “You didn’t get the whole story about Morrigan, then.”

At Alistair’s confused shake of the head, Cullen elaborated. “We allow each other a bit of fun,” he said lightly. “Morrigan was one of the... allowances.”

Alistair’s expression was caught between lust and disgust. “Please tell me it was more alluring than the picture in my head,” he grimaced. “I’m just getting a lot of dirty feathers, for some reason.”

Cullen laughed. “There were no feathers involved, I assure you.” He held a hand towards the door to his tower.

“So, this is where the... opposite of magic happens,” Alistair said, blinking into the dim office. He watched Cullen casually lock the doors. “Well that's not foreboding. Or possibly enticing. I can’t tell which.” Alistair said.

Cullen laughed. “I’m glad you never lost your sense of humor. There’s not much privacy at Skyhold. That's why Vira and I were laughing. We had our first kiss on the battlements. Maker, I was so nervous. I tried to talk about the weather. And then a damn courier interrupted us.” He rubbed the back of his neck, leaning on the edge of his desk. “It was very nearly a total disaster.”

Alistair chuckled. “So I don’t have exclusive rights to the ‘nervous Chantry boy’ title? Shame. I look so good in the uniform.”

“That you do,” Cullen grinned.

“See, there - you’re doing it again. The whole suave, charming, not-at-all-uncomfortable-with-our-past thing. I must say, I’m a bit.... um, what’s the word that means ‘pleasantly surprised but yet still suspicious’?” Alistair asked, sinking into the chair.

“I think you’ll need to make one up,” Cullen said.

“What’s changed? When I tried to see you in Kirkwall a few years ago, you didn’t approve of things.” Alistair had gone to see Knight-Commander Meredith, but when he’d taken the opportunity to visit to his old friend, Cullen seemed a changed man: harsh, cold. Still, they’d had a pleasant enough visit -- catching up, laughing, telling old stories over a few drinks. But then things went rapidly downhill. Cullen rejected Alistair’s tentative overtures outright, and with a disgusted sneer, no less. The rejection stung quite badly. It still did, in fact.

Cullen held up his hands. “I’m sorry about that. I truly am. I wasn’t as comfortable with... the way things were between us.” He winced.

“I know. You made that abundantly clear. So....?” Alistair prompted Cullen, making a circular motion with his hand.

“It took me a long time to get over what happened at Kinloch. The demons... they... many things got twisted, including our... friendship,” he said, finally. “I’ve tried to, ah, untwist them.”

“Well, that's good, right? Twisting’s got to be almost as bad as swooping.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “And then I met Vira. And the Iron Bull. They made me realize a lot of things.” Cullen said, glancing out the window.

“I’m sorry, go back a bit. ‘The Iron Bull’?”

“Do you not have any spies at all, your majesty?” Cullen scoffed. “Yes, the Iron Bull. Qunari mercenary - Tal-Vashoth, actually. He’s going to absolutely love you. Has a thing for redheads. You’d have to share, though. His lover Dorian is a bit greedy. Though I’m sure he’ll take a shine to you as well. He’s Tevene. Loves pale skin,” Cullen said, with a knowing wink. “He thinks it’s _exotic_ _._ You’ll meet them tonight.”

“Are you trying to make my head explode?” Alistair rubbed his temples.

Cullen chuckled. “It’s good that you’re here, Alistair. I’ve often regretted how I treated you in Kirkwall. I’m glad we have a chance to reconnect.”

“You meant a lot to me, when I was young. I’m glad to see you looking so content. And, I suppose, I’m just happy to see you at all.”

“Well, like I said. Some things changed. And other things stayed the same.” Cullen said. He held out his hand.

Alistair wasn’t quite sure what the gesture was supposed to mean. Seemed an odd time to want to shake hands. Still, best not be rude. It wasn’t until he felt Cullen hoisting him to a standing position, pulling him close, that he understood.

“Is this alright?” Cullen said, holding him in a very firm embrace, his lips close enough to Alistair’s that he could feel the breath whispering on his cheek.

“Oh, Maker, _yes,”_ Alistair breathed.

“Good,” Cullen said quietly, before closing the distance between their lips.

Some things were exactly as Alistair remembered. Cullen smelled and tasted precisely the same. The desperation was there, too, though that was probably more a reflection of the decade of unanswered questions and pent up longing that stretched between them.

Other things were different. The scar on Cullen’s lip, for example. Alistair found his tongue tracing over the proud flesh, wondering how he’d gotten such a wound. And they were men, now, not boys. Cullen’s stubble raked his cheeks and lips, burning in the best possible way. And the muscles which surged and bunched under the Commander's clothing were firm and heavy.

Cullen dragged his lips along Alistair’s jaw to his ear. “Are you still my good boy?” His voice was a low purr. He latched on to Alistair’s earlobe, holding it between his teeth.

For a long moment, all Alistair could do was breathe, the sharp exhalations heaving through his body as a decade’s worth of fantasies were all fulfilled at once. His body shook, but Cullen’s teeth kept him from pulling away. He struggled to form words. “Yes,” he finally managed. Once the first yes left his lips, it was as if a stopper was pulled. The words poured out: _yes, please yes, yes I am, please._

Cullen’s response was somewhere between a moan and a chuckle. “You don’t know how happy that makes me, to hear you say it.”

“Probably slightly less happy than it feels to be the one saying it. Maker, I’ve missed this.” Alistair reared on to his tiptoes, trying to gain purchase with his hips.

“I’ve missed it too,” Cullen said, weaving his fingers into Alistair’s hair and pulling it taut.

Alistair gasped. This was a new sensation, electric. Apparently Cullen had learned a thing or two. Before he could think of what other surprises might be in store, the Commander was claiming his mouth with hot, open kisses.

And then Alistair found himself being flipped around to face the desk, and Cullen was behind him, reaching around to stroke his now-straining length through his trousers. The Commander’s own arousal was pressing up against his ass, insistent.

“We don’t have a lot of time until dinner, Alistair,” Cullen murmured into his ear. “I was thinking that we should wait, take our time.”

At his broken whine of disappointment, Cullen laughed, his hand still moving. “But you’ve waited so long, and so have I. I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“Yes, please, I can’t wait.” Alistair’s voice was breathy, almost a whisper. He felt Cullen pull away and turned around.

The Commander was unbuckling his cuirass. Not slowly, but with deliberate care, staring into Alistair’s eyes.

“Might I assist, Commander?” It had always been a point of honor among the initiates to help the Templars arm and disarm themselves.

Cullen smiled. “Such a good boy.”

Alistair’s fingers flew to the buckles, unhooking them much quicker than Cullen had been. Within a few seconds, the breastplate was lifted off Cullen and set, carefully, on the armor stand in the corner. He was in a hurry, but not enough of a hurry to disrespect the Commander’s gear.

As he turned back, Alistair once again found himself being pushed, manhandled, really, towards the desk. Cullen swiped everything from the surface and pushed Alistair down.

“Oh, _Maker,”_ Alistair breathed, once again feeling Cullen’s weight on top of him, his teeth grazing the King’s neck, fingers gripping him. And then Cullen started to move, rolling his hips insistently, a relentless, sinuous motion. Even through the fabric, Alistair could feel Cullen’s cock rubbing on his own; he groaned, a ragged, needy sound and began to move against him.

“Such a good boy,” Cullen said into his neck. “So good. So, so good. How does it feel? Do you like it?”

“Oh, please, yes, I like it, please don’t stop, please, I - ngh - that's so....” Alistair panted, his vocabulary reduced to almost nothing by the pleasure wracking through him.

“Are you going to come?” Cullen’s voice was low, thick, with a raw edge that spoke of his own need.

“Yes, yes I’m going to - I’m going to -” Alistair grimaced.

“Ah ah, you wait for me, good boy. That's it. Just a little longer.”

With gritted teeth, Alistair screwed his eyes shut and held still, breathing hard. Cullen’s hips moved quicker now, with a jolting snap.

 _“Please,”_ Alistair squealed.

“Ah, yes, _fuck,_ come for me, Alistair, good boy. Come for me.” Cullen groaned, his grinding hips losing all rhythm.

Alistair’s moan tore from his throat as the orgasm took hold. He thrashed under Cullen, grabbing the man’s juddering hips and bucking wildly against him.

They lay there for a long moment, recovering. Alistair’s desire to stay like that forever was tempered somewhat by the growing ache in his lower back.

“I’m not sure what to do now,” he admitted. “You know, without the threat of getting caught. Feels funny.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Cullen laughed, pushing himself up. He held a hand out to Alistair, pulling him to a sitting position.

Alistair twisted from side to side, stretching. “I don’t suppose you have any way to... ah... clean up, do you?”

“I do, in fact. My quarters are above.”

“You mean we could’ve had a bed?” Alistair frowned, heading for the ladder.

“It’s not much of a bed,” Cullen explained.

“You are not kidding, are you?” Alistair said, taking in the tiny cot, still haphazardly positioned under the hole in the roof. “Still taking that vow of poverty seriously, I see.”

“I haven’t slept here since Corypheus was defeated,” Cullen said, gesturing at the washbasin. He rummaged through the chest and pulled out a pair of breeches, tossing them to Alistair. “Unless I’m working very late. Or if Vira has need of her bedroom.”

Alistair gave himself a quick rinse with a cloth, hissing at the frigid cold of the water from the ewer. “Anora _always_ needs our bedroom,” he complained, putting his foot through the leg of the breeches. “I don’t even bother going there anymore, unless I’m summoned for ‘royal duties’.” He shuddered. “Wait, why would the Inquisitor need her bedroom without you?”

Cullen smirked. “Sometimes she likes a little private time with Bull.” He turned away from Alistair and pulled his trousers off.

Alistair tried not to stare at Cullen’s ass as the man cleaned up. “That happens often, does it?”

Shaking his head, Cullen turned and grinned as Alistair raised his head a touch too late. “Depends on your definition of ‘often’. Not every day, or even every month. Just... sometimes.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Alistair had heard of such things, but never actually seen it in practice.

“Not at all,” Cullen shrugged. “If Bull is with Vira, that means Dorian is free for the evening.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Alistair shook his head in disbelief. “How do any of you ever get any work done? Or is this the secret of how you were able to defeat Corypheus? Some sort of... powers conferred by bonking all the time?”

Cullen’s laugh rang through the tower. It was so open and joyful, he almost looked sixteen again; all the pain and hardship he’d endured since they were initiates seemed to melt away. Alistair found himself laughing too.

“I’m so glad you came, Alistair.” Cullen said finally, still smiling.

Alistair snorted. Cullen looked confused for an instant and then began laughing again. “Let’s go. We’ll be late for dinner, otherwise, and then tongues will start to wag.”

“Would anyone even notice?” Alistair said, climbing down the ladder. “What with all the caboodling, this seems downright tame.”

 


	3. Freckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair gets to know the members of the Inquisition a bit better over dinner and drinks.

“Your majesty, Commander, so glad you could join us.” Vira sat at the head of the table, waving Cullen and Alistair over to the empty seats on either side of her. She stood. “Everyone, this is His Royal Highness, King Alistair. Let’s pretend to be civilized for a change, shall we? Alistair, allow me to introduce my inner circle. Well, the ones I can’t get rid of, anyway. This is Cole, our resident spirit of compassion, Warden Blackwall, Sera - watch out for that one, she might steal your breeches -” Vira paused as Sera made an incredibly rude gesture with her fingers and everyone laughed. “Varric Tethras, itinerant author and my spymaster, Seeker Cassandra, Dorian Pavus, and last but not least, the Iron Bull.” Vira plopped down. The conversations around the table resumed, as did the sound of food being served and drinks being poured.

Bull regarded the strawberry blonde next to him, breathing deeply. After a moment he raised an eyebrow and looked across the table at Cullen. The Commander’s tiny grin spoke volumes. It had not escaped Vira’s notice that both Cullen and Alistair were wearing different trousers.

“What, really?” Dorian said, catching the glance. _“Commander._ Well, I _never.”_

Cullen scoffed. “You _always,_ Dorian.”

Alistair was by now flailing around a bit, trying to pick up on what was happening. “Why do I get the feeling I’m on display, and not in a kingly way?”

Vira leaned over to him to whisper. “Bull has an _excellent_ sense of smell.” She patted his knee under the table. “And you’re wearing different breeches.”

Alistair went white, the freckles standing out against the pale skin. It was absolutely adorable, Vira decided.

“Let me get you a drink, Alistair,” Bull smirked, pouring the man a goblet of mead.

“So, your majesty,” Varric said from down the table. “How are you enjoying slumming it with the natives?”

“Ah, it’s been quite fun so far?” he offered tentatively. “Makes me miss the good old days.”

“What, you mean the blight?” Sera said. “You’re having a laugh, right?”

“Oooh, that did _not_ come out right, did it?” Alistair winced. “You know, I am quite good at shutting up. Perhaps I’ll give it a try.”

“I know what you mean,” Varric said. “There was a second there when Hawke almost became Viscount of Kirkwall. It might’ve killed him, being that bored, stuck in an office all day, reading reports, never out in the field....”

“I beg your pardon!” Cullen objected. “Someone needs to stay behind and run things, I’ll have you know.”

“And we all love you for it, Curly.” Varric laughed.

“Curly?” Alistair cocked an eyebrow. “That reminds me, you... have changed your hair, haven’t you? It seems different somehow...” He squinted at Cullen.

Cullen looked down at his plate and speared a morsel of pork with slightly more force than necessary. “Do we really need to discuss my hair?”

“Oh, _can_ we?” Dorian said, bringing his hands up to run his fingers lightly over the blond locks. “It makes such adorable ringlets when it’s wet.”

Cullen slowly turned his head to glower at Dorian. The mage, meanwhile, merely raised an eyebrow and returned the gaze, picking a cherry tomato off the tines of his fork with his front teeth, holding it there for a moment that felt like forever, before sucking it into his mouth and biting down.

“They’re not really fighting,” Cole said. “They play, the fight a game, the lion and the serpent, victory ever theirs, striving, testing, how far will it go, aching --”

_“COLE!”_ The entire table, save Alistair, yelled in unison.

“Sorry,” Cole said in a quiet voice.

“Kid, what have I told you about doing that in front of guests,” Varric rubbed at his eyes with one hand.

“But he’s not a guest. He’s a _friend,”_ Cole insisted. He looked at Varric. “You’re going to call him Freckles.”

“Don’t mind the kid,” Bull said. “He means well.”

Alistair’s eyes were wide as saucers. He turned to Vira. “What would happen if I just ran away and joined the Inquisition? You think they’d let me?”

“They’ll find you eventually, believe me,” Blackwall muttered.

“First off, you missed the recruiting drive, and second, I’m not dealing with Anora. Not when I can deal with Freckles. You’re stuck with the throne. But you can visit whenever you like.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

The evening got a bit wild after dinner. Most of them made their way to the tavern, although Blackwall begged off, no doubt to check on Josephine. That was a bit of a mess; it turned out that the House of Repose was after her, some ancient contract gone awry. Still, Josie had a plan, albeit a long, involved one that would keep Vira traipsing all over Orlais for favors.

At the Herald’s Rest, Bull immediately pulled Alistair to the side to meet the Chargers, at least those that were still upright. Vira watched the stammering, confused monarch being led around the tavern by the hand, casting slightly panicked looks at Cullen. The Commander just grinned at him.

“So, how were your pre-dinner activities?” Vira smirked.

Cullen chuckled and looked at the table, wiping a bit of froth off the lip of his tankard. “Good,” he said, taking a drink.

“Just good?” Something in the way he said it gave Vira pause, despite, or maybe because of, his wistful smile.

“It’s... been a long time,” Cullen explained. “I never thought... Well.” He looked at Vira. “My list of things I thought would never happen has gotten considerably shorter since I met you.”

There was so much in that glance: happiness, gratitude, love, devotion, need. The tender moment burst like a bubble as Dorian hurled himself into a seat on the other side of Cullen, curling an arm over his shoulder.

“I swear, the two of you. You’d think you’d only just met, the way you make cow-eyes at each other,” he said.

“You look at Bull like that all the time,” Vira scoffed.

“I most certainly do not!” Dorian protested. “I look at him with _lust. Passion. Raw animal need,_ not....” He flipped his hand and them. “-Whatever _that_ is.” He took a deep drink from his tankard.

“He’s lying,” Cullen said to Vira in a stage whisper. “I’ve seen him do it.”

Vira laughed and surveyed the tavern. “Whither goest our freckle-faced king?”

Cullen squinted into the crowd. Vira followed his line of sight, spying Alistair hesitatingly taking something from Bull’s hand. “Andraste preserve us, Bull, no, not the maraas-lok!” Cullen leapt up and grabbed the flask out of Alistair’s hand.

Vira snorted with laughter as Cullen dragged Alistair back to the table.

“What was in that flask?” he asked, eyeing Cullen suspiciously.

“Trouble,” Cullen muttered.

“Which one of these is mine?” Alistair pointed at the half-dozen or so mugs littering the table.

“This one is.” Bull loomed over the man, handing him a full tankard. “Since Mama Cullen won’t let you have the good stuff, I figured I’d get you some of Cabot’s reserve.”

“Ah, thank you?” Alistair stammered.

Vira took a drink from her mug to hide her smile. The King didn’t seem to know what to make of Bull. “You traveled with one of Bull’s countrymen, didn’t you?” she asked.

“I... I did. He was Sten, then. He’s Arishok now.” Alistair said. “He... didn’t have much of a sense of humor.”

“Yeah, it’s a thing,” Bull acknowledged, pulling up a chair next to Dorian. He tousled the mage’s hair affectionately.

“Kaffas, Bull. Get your mitts off me,” Dorian said with an utter lack of conviction.

Vira shook her head and laughed. “I never get tired of seeing you two together.”

“Of course not,” Dorian sniffed. “Any sight that involves _me_ is going to be a good one.”

“Oh, I can think of some sights that are just wonderful without you,” Vira said. She reached up and ran her thumb along Cullen’s jawline. He gave her one of those half-smiles. Creators, now there was something she truly would never tire of seeing. How the man could make pulling the corner of his mouth up look so deliciously enticing remained a mystery. She was willing to spend the rest of her life trying to figure it out, however.

“I can think of a few myself, my lady Lavellan,” Cullen said, pulling her hand down to kiss her fingertips.

“Ugh,” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Hold on, let me get Cassandra over here. She says it so much better.”

Alistair rose quickly. “I... need some air, I think.” He strode out of the tavern.

“What’s wrong with him?” Vira asked. The poor man looked a bit green. It didn’t seem like he’d had that much to drink, though.

“I should go after him,” Cullen said, starting to rise.

Bull put a hand on his shoulder. “I got this one, Commander. Don’t worry.”

***

Alistair paused as the cool night air hit his face. Despite his tour earlier in the day, he had little idea of where he was in the keep; the place was a warren. He spied a set of stairs leading to the battlements. Good a place as any.

He sank down to the steps, nestled behind the stone wall out of sight of the tavern, trying to gather the runaway thoughts and emotions. It was rather like herding nugs. There was always one that got away. And then he’d chase that one, and another would slip loose. And just what were nugs, anyway? Were they related to pigs, or rabbits, or...?

A shadow crossed over him, cutting off the light of the guttering torch. Alistair blinked into the impossibly huge silhouette. “Hello, er.... what should I call you? Do you actually put the article in front, or what?”

“I like it, but only Cole actually calls me _The_ Iron Bull. Just Bull’s fine. Here, thought you might want this.” The Qunari handed down Alistair’s tankard.

Bull leaned his back against the wall casually, sipping from his own drink. Sometimes Alistair felt as if his life was one long series of awkward pauses, usually caused by him saying something stupid. This wasn’t one of them, somehow. He sipped his drink, glad for the company.

“How did you know where I was?” he asked, finally.

“Vira wasn’t lying. I have an excellent sense of smell.” Bull said.

“Am I stinky?” Alistair wrinkled his nose. “I bathed just last week.”

Bull laughed. “Humans smell different when they’re upset. Sharper, less musky.”

There was another pause. Alistair wasn’t sure if Bull was waiting for him to respond or if he was thinking. “Soooo, is this a thing you do, then? Seek out monarchs in distress and bring them beer?” He drank from the mug.

“Sometimes. You didn’t seem like you wanted to be alone, so, here I am.” Bull slid his back against the wall, dropping to a sitting position with a satisfied sigh. “So, tell me about this woman. The one that you think about when you look at Vira.”

Alistair squinted at him. “Are you... magic? How could you possibly know that?”

“Not magic. Just spent my life learning what to look for. You know what to look for, everything’s obvious. I saw the way you looked at Cullen. I could smell him on you at dinner. But just now, when he and Vira were all lovey-dovey, you tensed your whole body. And not from jealousy - that looks different. I’m guessing she reminds you of someone.” Bull explained.

Alistair slumped. He went to take a sip of his beer and discovered it was empty. He set the tankard on the step beside him.

Wordlessly, Bull pulled the flask from his boot and handed it to him.

Gingerly, Alistair took a swig. “Maker’s balls, this is _terrible,”_ he spluttered, choking. “Cullen wasn’t kidding.”

Bull grinned, his teeth gleaming in the torchlight. “You were saying?"

“Solona Amell,” Alistair said, his voice hoarse from more than just the liquor. “The Hero of Ferelden,” he said, drawing out her honorific in a bitter sing-song. “She didn’t look anything like the Inquisitor. I mean, she was human. She had the most lovely blond hair. Solona was so fearless, cool and collected, and when I made her laugh I felt like... like I could do anything. And she looked at me that way, the way the Inquisitor did at Cullen....” He shook his head. “No, seriously, how are you doing this? Look, you’re making me all gooey inside. Are you sure it’s not magic?”

Bull took a swig from the flask and handed it back. “I’ll tell you a secret: it’s pheromones. You can’t pick it up consciously, but it works like a charm.”

Alistair found the second swig didn’t burn quite as much. Perhaps because his whole body was so much warmer all of a sudden. He shoved the bottle back at Bull. “That is definitely trouble, liquid trouble, please get it away from me before I do something rash.”

Bull shrugged. “Maybe I’d like to see that.”

“Ohhhh no. No, nonono.” Alistair shook his head vehemently. All sorts of terrible ideas were starting to form in his head.

“C’mon, I know you want to ask me something. I won’t tell.”

“Promise?” Alistair squinted a bit owlishly.

“Absolutely.” Bull gave a salute, fist over his heart.

“Cullen said you helped him get things... er, straightened out.”

“He told you about that, did he?”

“Only a bit.” Alistair admitted.

“Pretty messed up shit, let me tell you. Demons,” Bull shook his head. “But yeah. The demons took a part of him, twisted it, made him hate it, hate himself. I helped him get it back.”

“Cullen said - Maker, I can’t believe I’m telling you this - he said that you and the Inquisitor....”

Bull’s grin was wide and wicked. “Yeah, we do. I can give her things Cullen can’t.”

“Okay, see, that's where I get confused,” Alistair said. Suddenly it felt like a good idea to lean to the side so his head rested on the stone wall. “I’m really, _really_ hoping it’s not the horns.”

Throwing his head back, Bull roared with laughter. Alistair found himself grinning sheepishly.

“It’s not the horns. Vira has some pretty specific tastes. Things I’m good at. Goes a little past what Cullen is comfortable with. So it all works out.”

“What is it that you’re you good at?” Alistair heard the words coming out of his mouth. Some day he’d figure out a way to stop that from happening.

Bull turned. Even with the light behind him, Alistair could see the glint in his eye. “It’s not the kind of thing that translates too well into words.”

The king found he was trembling and his mouth had gone dry. Something about the set of the Qunari’s shoulders, the tightness around his eye, the way he could see the huge gray muscles rising and falling with every deliberate breath.

Dimly, Alistair was aware that this was the part of the conversation where he should be saying something. That seemed impossible at the moment.

“You want me to show you, maybe?” Bull asked, his voice somehow even lower, rumbling through Alistair like an earthquake.

_Don’t nod, don’t nod, why are you nodding, you don’t even know this man, you are very much nodding, why._ Before Alistair’s thoughts could derail any further, Bull was rising. It was like watching a mountain stand up. He towered over Alistair, frozen on the stone steps.

Bull deliberately leaned over him, forcing Alistair backwards until he was half-laying on the steps. The Qunari put his hands on the steps on either side of Alistair’s head. They weren’t touching at all, but Alistair felt as if he was bound. He desperately wanted to feel Bull’s weight crushing him. It was similar to how it felt when Cullen pinned him, but multiplied by a factor of a thousand.

Bull tilted his head, assessing him calmly. “I think you get the picture.” And just like that the huge body was gone, leaning back on the wall as if nothing had happened.

Overwhelmed by the sensation of it, as well as the vicious liquor coursing through his belly, Alistair struggled to understand exactly what it was Bull was trying to tell him. He felt like the answer was just out of reach. But, by the same token, maddeningly obvious. Before he could ask, Bull was talking.

“You alright?” Bull asked. “I gotta head back in. I stay out too long, Dorian’ll run up my bar tab.”

“I... think I’m okay?” Alistair said, trying to parse how he felt. There was definitely an element of “tipsy”, but other than that he felt... fine, actually. A little unsteady, but in a pleasant way, as if Bull had shaken him free of the melancholy dogged him earlier.

Bull looked up sharply at something Alistair couldn’t see. “Hey, Boss,” he said calmly, putting his flask back in his boot.

Alistair tried to straighten up, a process hindered slightly by the maraas-lok. He heard the Inquisitor’s voice. “Bull, are you really feeding our poor Freckles that dreadful concoction? You’ll have to answer to Cullen, you know.”

Bull rose. “Nothing I can’t handle. I’m a big boy.”

Vira’s laugh grew closer, until she came into view, holding a tankard. “I’m quite aware of that. Hello, your majesty.”

Bull clapped the Inquisitor on the shoulder and headed back to the bar. Alistair squinted at Vira. “Hullo,” he hiccupped. “That big man’s little bottle is not to be trifled with.”

Vira squeezed herself next to Alistair on the step. “Don’t I know it. He foisted some on me after we fought a dragon together. Then he made some rather public compliments regarding my chest.”

The King squinched his eyes shut. “I am definitely not prepared to respond to that in any way.” The heat from her tiny body licked up his side like a flame.

“Are you all right? I was afraid you might’ve been sick, the way you ran out.” Vira said.

“Oh, no, me? Fine, fine. Well, no, not fine, actually. But not sick. Although I don’t fancy my chances for tomorrow.”

“I’ll send some of Cabot’s hangover remedy with you. Works wonders.” She drank from her cup.

“Can I see it?” he blurted. “Your hand, I mean. The... thingy.”

“You mean the anchor? If you like.” Vira shook off the fingerless cloth gloves she wore.

Alistair peered at the slash of green on her palm. Without thinking, he took her hand, pulling it closer to his face.

“Does it hurt?” He traced a finger over the light, wondering if he imagined the shiver he felt running through her.

“It did at first.” She said, in a tone that suggested she’d answered this question dozens of times. “It used to be much brighter,” she noted. “Now that most of the rifts are closed, it's faded.”

“It's quite beautiful, isn't it?” _Like everything else about you, Maker take it all._ He looked up at her. She was right there, inches from his face. _Do not, under any circumstances, lean forward and kiss her. Don’t even think about it, you’re already thinking about it, just stop._ He screwed his eyes closed and let go of her hand. Before he could wonder how badly he'd mangled the moment, she was talking.

“So, your majesty. What do you think of the Inquisition so far?” Vira drained her tankard.

“Not nearly as terrifying as I expected. And a lot more bonking. Also -” he said, holding up a finger as she choked on her ale, “- I really regret saying that last bit.”

“I told you we get up to all sorts of fun. Did you have a nice time with Cullen?” She leaned into his shoulder playfully.

Alistair covered his face with his hands and leaned back to lay on the steps. “Aargh, how can you even ask me that?” He laughed.

“You don’t want to tell me, that's fine,” Vira said, putting a reassuring hand on his knee. “I made him promise to tell me all the details later, anyhow.”

The King rolled his head back and forth on the stone steps. “Are you trying to kill me? Don’t tell me that. Then I have to think about you and Cullen. And... caboodling.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

Her voice had changed. Alistair pulled his hands from his eyes. She had turned and was regarding him, a smile still lingering on her face. But now her lips were parted, and she had a question in her eyes.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” he said, dragging himself to a sitting position with the handrail. “Now _you’re_ doing it. Flirting. I _am_ drunk, true, but also pretty sure that you’re flirting.” He waved a finger in her face. The motion unsettled him a little; he put an arm behind her to steady himself. This was a miscalculation on his part, as the posture essentially tucked her to his side even closer. And it felt much, much too good, having her this close. “This feels different, though,” he said. “Why does it feel different?”

Vira tilted her tiny, beautiful face up to him. Maker, those eyes. Shouldn’t be legal to have eyes that green. Maybe he should pass a law or something. Probably wouldn’t count here, anyway. He wasn’t even sure if they were still in Ferelden.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “But... it does.” She looked worried. And there was another expression on her face, something it took Alistair a long time to recognize, something that went along with the way her hand felt, still on his knee, but sliding upward along his leg, slowly, the sensation forcing his eyes closed - Maker, how long had it been since anyone touched him like this - until he realized that she was pushing herself to stand.

When he opened his eyes, the worried look was gone. She was holding her hand out to him. “Maybe it’s because you haven’t mentioned cheese in the last five minutes,” she joked. “Come on. Last round’s on me.”


	4. Sleeping and Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair gets tipsy, Vira gets worried, and Cullen has a flashback to Kinloch Hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise minimal angst, and here is some of it. Mentions of torture and PTSD flashbacks ahead. Tags updated accordingly.

The keep was definitely spinning, Alistair decided. Must’ve been. It was the only possible explanation for the way he kept losing his balance.

Luckily, he had Cullen on one side and the Iron Bull on another. Cullen was muttering curses at the Qunari. “Bull, I told you this would happen,” he said, staggering as Alistair heaved unexpectedly to one side. He hadn’t meant to. Apparently his leg thought it was a good idea to go on a jaunt by itself.

“Ah, lighten up, Cullen. I just helped him relax. I seem to recall helping you to bed after a night of Grey Whiskey,” Bull laughed.

“That was different.”

They opened the door to the guest quarters and lowered Alistair to the bed, his feet dangling over the edge. Bull wiped his hands and nodded. “I’ll leave you to it, Cullen.” The massive man was out the door, leaving the blonde to deal with the tipsy monarch.

The king yawned hugely. “Cullen, you’re soooooo good to me,” he smiled happily. “Might’ve fallen.”

“You definitely would have,” Cullen agreed.

Alistair was content to sleep how he lay, but he felt Cullen pulling off his boots. “You don’ need to do that. Sleep better with my boots on. ‘S an ol’ Grey Warden trick.” He waved his hand around. “Wait, that reminds... that reminds me.” He sat up, blearily.

Cullen was kneeling on the floor, unlacing his other boot. “Well isn’t that love-hic- lovely,” Alistair said, keeping one eye closed. “You always were rather -hic- breathtaking. I think that's the word. Yes.”

Cullen laughed. “What were you trying to say, Alistair?”

“Ohhhhh, righ’. Where’d you get Grey Whiskey? Duncan used to sneak sips.Thought I wasn’t looking. Ah, I miss Duncan. Good man. Good hair. Miss him.”

Yanking firmly, Cullen removed the offending boot. He rose and lifted Alistair’s feet, spinning them around to rest on the bed. His fingers started working the tiny knots cinching Alistair’s doublet. “I learned my lesson, believe you me. I was upset, at the time. Vira was involved with... another member of the Inquisition. An elf. They’d gone to Crestwood together. I thought I’d missed my chance, and I was drowning my sorrows. Varric and Bull helped me get through it. Arms up.” Cullen pulled the doublet away from Alistair and began to remove his breeches.

“She was in love with someone else?” Alistair asked. “But how is that possible? _You’re_ lovely, and _she’s_ lovely. It’s all very... lovely,” he concluded.

“Lovely or no, it happened.” Cullen said.

“Solona slept with the elf, you know. Zevran. I thought it would bother me more. Of course I slept with him too,” Alistair said. “Not at the same time. Later. He visits me in Denerim sometimes. He has a very pert bum.”

“Alistair!” Cullen laughed, at a loss for words. He pulled the King’s breeches off, leaving him in his smalls.

“Wha? ‘S true. Don’t know what I’d do without him and Isabela. They visit me. When they can. Not very often, though. They’re the only ones... the only ones I....” Alistair felt Cullen pull the blankets around him.

“Isabela? The Pirate Queen?” Cullen said, raising his eyebrows in appreciation. “She cut quite a swath through Kirkwall.” He poured a cup of water and emptied a vial into it. “Here. Sit up, that's it. Drink this. You’ll feel better for it, trust me.”

Alistair did as he was told. Almost immediately, his head began to clear. “What... what was in that?”

“Spindleweed infusion. It cuts through the stupor,” Cullen winked.

The realization that he’d just been babbling about sleeping with the two of the most promiscuous people in Ferelden hit Alistair like a druffalo. “Aaargh, why didn’t you give it to me straight away?” He flopped down on the bed.

“And miss my chance to undress a handsome King? Are you mad?” Cullen sat on the side of the bed next to him.

Looking up at him, Alistair was overcome with the desire to ask Cullen to stay, to share the bed, to tangle themselves together as they had on those desperately cold nights as initiates, when everyone had leave to huddle together for warmth in the unheated barracks. He never forgot how safe he felt, how Cullen's sleeping breath would tingle on his skin. Alistair himself could never fall asleep those nights, too preoccupied with memorizing the sensations, knowing he wanted more than Cullen could give. He would always slip away before Cullen woke; the sight of seeing those amber eyes flutter open in the morning would have broken his heart.

Alistair felt a lump in his throat; he clenched his jaw to prevent himself from blurting anything stupid.

“You alright?” Cullen asked in concern.

“Oh, yes, thanks, perfectly all well and good,” Alistair babbled. “I....” _Don’t say it, don’t say it, just let him go. You did it once, you can do it again._ “--Yes. I’m fine.”

“Well then, I’ll let you get some sleep,” Cullen said. Before Alistair understood what was happening he felt Cullen kiss his forehead, a lingering kiss, the man’s thumb brushing his temples. And then he was gone in a swirl of maroon cape.

***

“Did you get him tucked in?” Vira asked as Cullen made his way across the moon-drenched room to their bed. She was already under the covers.

“I made Bull help,” Cullen said. “It’s his fault. I don’t know where he gets that blasted liquor, but he never seems to run out. Did you find out why Alistair ran out of the tavern?” He stripped out of his clothes and slipped under the blankets, cuddling up next to Vira.

“I’m afraid not. He was already very tipsy,” Vira laughed.

“Mmmm, I know. Too bad.” Cullen hummed into her shoulder, trailing kisses down the skin. “I was hoping to bring him back here, actually.”

“Were you?” Vira’s voice was low.

“Oh yes,” Cullen said, curling his arm around her. “He was such a good boy, earlier.” His hand roved from her neck to her breasts, pinching at her until she squirmed.

“How so?” Vira arched into his touch, feathering her fingers down his spine.

“Helped me take my armor off,” Cullen said, replacing his fingers with his mouth, teasing the puckered skin with flicks of his tongue.

“I’m guessing that's not all he took off?” Vira grinned.

“Mmm, it was, actually. We couldn’t wait. I pinned him to the desk.” Cullen rolled over top of her, mimicking his motions from earlier in the day.

Vira’s groan was ragged as she imagined it. “You didn’t even take off your clothes?” she gasped.

Cullen shook his head, rolling his hips into hers, letting her feel him through his smallclothes. “Just. Like. This.”

“Ohhhh,” Vira squirmed, the sound of Cullen’s voice sending her into a frenzy.

“He was _so_ good,” Cullen continued, as his hips continued their assault. “He wanted to come so bad, poor thing. Gasping and crying out as I held him down. But I made him wait. And he did. My good boy didn’t come until I let him.”

Vira whined. The friction of Cullen’s cock through the fabric was not going to be enough. The thought of Alistair and Cullen being so desperate for each other that they could finish that way just made it all the more intoxicating.

“Are you getting excited, Inquisitor? Maybe you want to show me how good you can be?” Cullen’s finger was at her lips.

Vira sucked at it eagerly, nodding and moaning her assent.

“Mmmm, I like the sound of that,” Cullen said. “Hands and knees, good girl.”

She was already bucking her hips slightly when he knelt in front of her. “Open that pretty mouth, Inquisitor.” Cullen’s grateful moan as she wrapped her lips around him turned to a hiss as she swallowed most of his length. “Greedy,” he chided, carding his fingers in her hair. He made a fist, pulling the strands taut.

She whined again, more so from the inability to continue than at the prickling pain across her scalp. Her mouth was open as he held himself just beyond her reach.

“Maker, that's gorgeous, seeing you like this,” He smiled down at her. Slowly, he leaned forward into her mouth. The more she tried to move against him, the tighter his grip became. With a frustrated whimper, she held herself still.

“That’s my good girl. Letting me have you just the way I want it.” Cullen dragged himself along her tongue with shallow thrusts. “Will you do this for him? Will you use this gorgeous mouth on my King?”

Vira couldn’t nod or speak; her squealing moan had to answer for her.

“I’d like to see that. I’d like to see his face as he feels that perfect tongue move on his cock for the first time. Do you think he’ll come? Do you think you’ll get to taste him?” Cullen’s voice had a barbed rasp to it now. “He’s a very good boy. He’ll come wherever I say, you know. He always has.”

The moans coming from Vira were now continuous, pleading sounds. Though she couldn’t move her head, her hips continued to arch back and forth fucking at the air, as if it would help.

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll do more than watch,” Cullen mused. “Maybe you’d like to have us both at once?’

Despite the hand holding her steady, Vira pulled forward, sucking as much as she could of him into her mouth, bobbing a nod against the restraint.

“Oh, I see you’d like that.” Cullen laughed. He brought his other hand up, letting go of her hair to hold her face gently. He gave a few firm thrusts, grunting with effort before pulling out altogether. “Turn around,” he commanded.

Vira spun on her hands and knees and presented herself to him, resting her forehead on her arms. She could feel the moisture beginning to seep down her inner thigh.

Cullen gave no warning, simply plunged into her to the hilt and held himself there.

_“Fuck,”_ Vira gasped.

“Is that a request?” Cullen slammed a hard thrust into her, then held steady once more.

“Please. Please.” Vira whimpered.

“Touch yourself,” he said.

Her fingers dug into the hard knot of flesh. She moaned gratefully at the sensation.

“Ah, that's it,” Cullen cooed at her. “Think about who you want to fuck you. Maybe you want me to do it, so you can taste him? Hmmm? Swallow everything he gives you? Or maybe you want him to fuck you? Sink that royal cock into you, just like this?”

VIra panted through gritted teeth as the edge hovered closer. If only Cullen would _move_ -

“Or maybe... maybe...” Cullen began to roll his hips, barely even thrusting. “Maybe you want us both to fuck you? One after the other?”

Whiteness exploded behind Vira’s eyes; she bucked wildly against Cullen, grinding against his cock as she came. Cullen’s fingers dug into her hips as he took control of her movements, pulling her back on to himself. His grunts became breathier as his hips snapped into her, hard, again and again. With a heaving shudder he ground his release into her body.

Vira rested on her knees, folded under him, catching her breath. She felt his softening cock slide out of her. With a groan, she uncoiled her trembling limbs before the situation became too messy.

She tottered to the washbasin, still blissed out. After a brief wash, she dampened a clean cloth and brought it to Cullen, who had crumpled to the bed, one arm flung over his eyes. With a start, she realized he’d had sex three times that day.

“Tired?” She smirked at him, tossing the damp cloth on his stomach.

“I may never move again. _Maker._ It’s a good thing Alistair doesn’t visit often. I’m not eighteen anymore, you know.”

Vira retrieved the coverlet from the foot of the bed and spread it over them. “Too bad,” she clucked. “If you can manage this now, I’d have loved to see you back then.”

He laughed. “No you wouldn’t. I had no idea what I was doing with women.”

“I wouldn’t have known the difference.” Vira said, laying as much of herself on him as she comfortably could.

There were a few moments of silence. “Tell me,” Vira said. “Where did the ‘good boy’ thing come from? I mean, you were pretty young, right?”

She felt the hint of a laugh shake Cullen’s chest. “We were. It wasn’t at all unusual for the initiates to... you know. Help each other out, on occasion. Mostly it was just a spur of the moment thing, when the opportunity presented itself.”

Cullen yawned. “It was less common to have a favorite. Treading a bit too close to the line. But not unheard of. I’d already been training for a few months when this utterly hilarious bastard shows up. He should’ve been training at least a year by that point, so he was already behind. And he just struggled. But he kept a good humor about it, even though he was constantly getting in trouble. I liked him immediately.”

There was a pause, when Vira thought perhaps Cullen had fallen to sleep. She turned to face him. “And then what happened?”

“Well, as I recall, we were sparring, unarmed combat. I was upset about something. Don’t remember what. Probably something stupid. But I was furious. And poor Alistair got stuck with me. I... rather let all my frustrations out on him.” There was another silent chuckle. “Yet, it didn’t seem to matter how angry I got. He just... went with it. He didn’t get angry in return. He had this kind of look in his eyes....”

Vira felt a tremor wrack through him, gently. She smiled.

“So I just kept pinning him, again and again. Eventually I wasn’t mad any more, but it felt... well. I’d never felt anything like it. And he kept shooting me these secret smiles, egging me on.”

Vira inhaled sharply, imagining it.

“Anyway. Eventually we had to stop. Thank the Maker for leather armor. Hides a multitude of sins. Literally. So after that, I went looking for him. Found him in the basement a few days later.” Cullen’s eyes were closed by now.

After another pause, Vira poked him. “Yes, but _good boy?_ Rather a leap there, or am I missing something?”

Without opening his eyes, he tickled her, making her squirm against him. “Nosy. Yes. After a few, er, encounters, we’d slipped to a back corner of the library. I’d already... Um. Finished. And he hadn’t. And he was making these little noises, but trying to be quiet.” Cullen exhaled, remembering. “Somehow it just slipped out of my mouth that he was being a very good boy. We almost got caught, he made such a racket.” He purred a laugh.

Vira slowly sucked in a breath and let it out. “Well,” she said. “Am I ever glad I asked.”

Cullen tickled her again. “Now, if you don’t mind, I really need some sleep. Between the two of you today, I’m utterly worn out.”

“Fine, Oh Mighty Lion of Honnleath,” she intoned. “Get some rest.” She nestled against him.

After a moment, Cullen spoke again. “Do you actually want him to join us?” Cullen asked, stroking her hair. “We certainly don’t have to.”

“I think I’d like that,” Vira said.

“Good,” Cullen said with a yawn. “I think I would, too.” He was asleep within moments.

She frowned inwardly. She did want it. There was no question about the _want._ But still. There was trepidation mixed in with the desire. There had been a moment when she sat on the steps with Alistair, when he'd taken her hand, tracing her palm with one finger. He looked at her, with such deep sadness and longing in his eyes, no doubt unguarded from the Bull’s drink.

Vira had felt the stirrings of... something. Something with the potential for depth, not just a bit of fun on the side. Something frighteningly reminiscent of the way she felt about Cullen at the beginning. Something dangerous.

Vira lay a long time awake, wondering why she suddenly felt scared.

***

Cullen awoke alone. No surprise there; he’d taken to sleeping a scandalous hour or two past dawn. It was one of the small indulgences he allowed himself -- he’d lost enough sleep to lyrium withdrawal, and they were no longer at war, after all. Vira often was up and out of bed by the time he rose.

This morning, though, he was achingly hard, well past the normal state of affairs. He’d been dreaming. Though he couldn’t quite recall the specifics, the sensation of lips wrapping around him still lingered.

With a groan, he rolled to his back. He realized he wasn’t sure who he’d been dreaming about. The thought brought another groan to his lips as well as a smile, and he twitched a bit in anticipation.

Fumbling in the nightstand, he pulled the small bottle of oil and dripped it into his hand. With practiced gestures, he smoothed his palm along his length gently, willing the sense memory of the dream back to mind.

It had been Vira’s lips he was dreaming about. Cullen exhaled, curling his fingers around himself, twisting around the crown lazily, the way she did with her tongue. He imagined the scene he’d described last night; her sucking his length while Alistair took her from behind.

Cullen set a slow pace for himself, dragging it out, enjoying the positively filthy notions running through his mind. How Vira would rock her mouth back and forth on him in time to Alistair’s thrusts. How her moans would gain in intensity, until she was almost bleating. How Alistair’s face would look as he got close.

Cullen realized he’d increased his stroke. He forced himself to slow down. The idea of watching Alistair come apart as he took Vira was nothing to be rushed. Especially thinking about her reaching up to touch herself, getting closer and closer, until finally she couldn’t keep Cullen in her mouth, instead just resting her forehead on his hip as she pumped at him with her hand, moaning uncontrollably. And Alistair’s pace would increase, taking her harder, stretching her.

All pretense at holding back was gone now, as Cullen fucked into his fist, making little breathy grunts. He imagined it: commanding Alistair to keep his eyes trained on Cullen, to wait for Vira to come around his cock, wait until she was screaming and sobbing and biting at Cullen's hip, watching Alistair struggle to keep his eyes open, clenching his jaw with effort, trying to hold still with Vira fucking against him, trying not to come. And then... Ah, then. Then Cullen would let him.

“Fuck,” Cullen moaned, spurting through his fingers, his back arched, like he hadn’t had sex in weeks, much less been completely spent just the day before.

His breathing gradually slowed, and he relaxed into a half-sleep, still imagining how they’d curl up against each other, sated. Alistair would probably make some awkward joke or talk about cheese. And Cullen and Vira would laugh. For a brief moment, he was awash in contentment at the idea of being caught between the two of them.

Suddenly, he was pelted with a flashback from his torment at Kinloch Hold. He jerked to a sitting position, almost doubled over, as his mind was filled with the memory of Alistair, bleeding, pleading for mercy, begging for an end to the pain, even as desire demons drowned Cullen with pleasure beyond capacity for human comprehension. Something the Templars never warned him about: pleasure isn’t just an emotion, it’s a sensation. Like pain, the demons could trigger pleasure without any possibility for resistance, just the way it would hurt to be stabbed or burned. It wasn’t a question of not feeling the ecstasy they forced on him; it was a matter of staying sane under the onslaught. Of not letting his mind break as he saw the demon wearing Alistair’s form crying out in agony, _aren’t I your good boy please no more make it stop --_

Cullen inhaled sharply and rolled from the bed. _No._ That was past him, now. Bull had helped him undo that damage. Cullen was no stranger to flashbacks, though he hadn’t experienced one in months. He stumbled out of the bed and to the washbasin, scraping himself clean with a cloth before splashing cold water on his face. As he pulled on his trousers and undertunic, Cullen forced his mind to other matters, going over his day’s agenda: work until mid-morning, chess with Dorian, war council, lunch, and troop inspections. He repeated the litany as if it was a canticle, bringing his mind to focus, steering the ship away from the maelstrom.

Gradually, he quelled the rising panic, focusing on calming breaths, the feeling of the comb being dragged through his hair, the weight of his cuirass as he strapped it on, the tickle of the fur cape against his neck. All the while, he repeated his schedule for the day to himself in a low murmur. By the time he was dressed, the anxiety had been pushed aside. Still, he frowned, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Something wasn’t quite right. He felt unsettled.

Gingerly, Cullen went back in his mind, trying to identify what triggered the flashback. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He’d been thinking about Alistair and Vira. What would happen after. Cullen felt calm and happy and content, imagining the way their three bodies would fit together as they drifted into slumber.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said, slumping. He leaned on the dressing table for support. _Of course._ Small wonder he’d panicked. With a sigh, he left the chamber and made his way to his office.

When Ulfred created the magical prison around the Templar in Kinloch Hold, a lesser desire demon was the first to cleave to Cullen. Too weak to cause true agony, the demon dangled before his eyes an impossibility: life with Alistair and Solona, the three of them balanced together, utterly happy. It was bliss, pure and simple. Cullen knew it was a lie, of course, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy it.

He’d forgotten all about it; soon enough the real torture began, once the Tower had fallen and the more powerful demons came looking for him. Cullen had stumbled into the same fantasy that morning, and his brain had made the leap.

Rounding the corner into the rotunda, he almost smacked into a courier, still deep in his reverie. Pausing to let the woman pass, Cullen swore at himself under his breath.

Even without the flashback, he should have known better than to allow himself to think too hard about Alistair that way. Long ago Cullen had carefully cultivated walls within himself, beyond which he would not reach. The walls kept Alistair where Cullen knew the man wanted to be: friends, comrades-in-arms, not lovers, regardless of what passed between them. Though they’d never talked about it, Alistair had made it clear. They few times they were allowed the indulgence of sharing a bed, Cullen had clung to the boy like his life depended on it. Yet Alistair was always gone well before dawn, slipping out of his grasp. The message was received, and Cullen shut his feelings away.

But apparently those barriers he’d built so long ago had been weakened by time and distance. The shock of meeting the man again -- hearing his laugh, seeing his smile -- the walls had dissolved without him even realizing it.

Opening the door to his office, Cullen winced. All the papers and scrolls were still on the floor, where he’d swept them last evening. He sighed. No point in dwelling on it. There would be a few more days for him to enjoy Alistair’s company, and then it would be over. Might as well enjoy what was offered -- asking for more would simply be foolish. Whatever idle dream he’d had this morning was just as impossible now as it had been at Kinloch. He set about gathering the papers, stacking them carefully on the desk, building the walls once again.

 

 


	5. The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair plays chess with Dorian. Vira ferrets out a secret about the Queen and teeters on the edge of something big.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEADS UP: there is discussion of having entirely consensual but not-enjoyable sex out of duty to bear a child. Can't think of a good tag for it, so if you have a suggestion please let me know.

From the shock of sunlight which greeted him, Alistair knew he’d picked the wrong door. This was clearly not the library. He took a few tentative steps into the garden with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, as if he was looking for someone. It was his own fault, being lost. There was a runner available to guide him about. But it was so nice, being left alone, not recognized, not pestered with constant bowing and people stopping their conversations abruptly. 

Once his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, he saw that Tevinter mage looking at him. Dorian, it was. Maybe? Or Dorric? No, it was definitely Dorian. The one who was with the Qunari. The mage smiled and waved at him. Maker, the man was handsome. Why was everyone here so blasted attractive? It was ridiculous. And they all seemed to get along, chatting and bantering and eating and drinking together. When he was an adventurer, they all stood around the campfire awkwardly, not speaking. 

Dorian rose as he approached, giving a small but elegant bow and holding a hand out at the empty seat across the chess table. “Good afternoon, your majesty. Care to join me for a moment?” 

Alistair flung himself into the chair. “Hello, Dorian. I never know where I am in this place. I was looking for the library.” He spied the book in the mage’s hand. “I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all,” Dorian smiled warmly at him. The King blinked rapidly, caught in Dorian’s gaze, then volleyed a tentative smile of his own back. When the eye contact threatened to become actual flirting, Dorian glanced away. “I’m waiting for Cullen, actually. We play chess, you know. I’m a bit early today.” 

Alistair wrinkled his nose. “Never thought I’d see the day that an ex-Templar would be friends with a mage.” 

“And a dreaded Tevinter mage, to boot,” Dorian added. “I chalk it up to my prodigious charm and good looks.”

“Oh, ah... yes. Clearly,” Alistair fumbled. The wattage of Dorian’s smile increased and the King felt the inevitable flush rise to his cheeks. He blinked up at the sun, trying to figure out something to say.

Dorian took care of that. “Would you care for a game, your majesty?”

“Please, call me Alistair,” he said. “Aaaand I must warn you, I haven’t played chess in a terribly long time.”

“No fear. I only ever win because Cullen allows me to cheat,” Dorian smiled. “How about this: I promise not to cheat with you.”

_ That’s a shame. _ Too late, Alistair realized he’d paused a second too long, and was looking at the man’s lips, to boot. The sparkle in the man’s eyes made it clear he’d noticed. Damn. “Ahhh, yes. Fine. I accept.” Alistair leaned forward and cracked his knuckles. 

Dorian set up the pieces. “So you and the Commander were childhood friends?”

“I was sixteen when we met,” Alistair said. “We trained to be Templars together. For a few years. I never took my vows. Got conscripted before it was official.” He moved a pawn.

“Mmm, I’d have given anything to see that. You and Cullen, blushing young virgins, sparring together in some dusty courtyard, shirtless, sweating...”

“Dorian!” Alistair protested, cutting him off. “Look, I’m pretty sure whatever you’re doing counts as cheating,” he said. His eyes were a bit wild. 

“And what is it that I’m doing, exactly?” Dorian raised an eyebrow suggestively.

“Dunno, the whole... flirty... thing.” Alistair waved his hand vaguely, not meeting his eyes. “Is this how you beat Cullen?” He selected another pawn and shoved it forward.

“Trust me. Commander Cullen can  _ more _ than handle himself in the flirting department when he so chooses.” Dorian winked. “He has teased me outrageously on more than one occasion. The first time, I was completely unprepared for the onslaught. I lost  _ that  _ chess game badly, I’m afraid. Couldn’t stand up for a half-hour afterward, either. Had to take a cold bath after.”

Alistair’s eyes widened. “He wasn’t kidding then? You and he....?” He narrowed his eyes. 

“Oh yes.” Dorian shifted a bishop a few spaces. “We’ve had quite a bit of fun.” He hummed a throaty laugh.

The sigh that escaped Alistair’s lips was sadder than he’d intended. The idea of just being able to be around Cullen at all, much less  _ be  _ with him, even if it was only for fun... sweet Andraste, it seemed like an impossible dream. He stared at the board for a moment, frowning as if he was considering his next play, yet his eyes didn’t move. Alistair had already felt the pull of emotions he’d long tried to extinguish. Out of practice, that must be it. He’d been very good at locking it away when they were initiates, but that was ages ago. The ache that he felt last night as Cullen had ground into him had little to do with their impending release, and a lot to do with his heart. 

Dorian frowned. “I’m sorry. Should I not have mentioned that?”

The redhead roused himself, sliding a rook across the tiles. “No, no, it’s fine. Sounds wonderful actually. Er, I mean, ah... having the freedom to, you know...” He sighed glumly, looking out over the sunny garden. “Have a bit of fun, I suppose. You’d think being King would garner an advantage there, but sadly... no.”

Dorian looked suspicious. “Is this  _ your  _ way of cheating? Making me feel sorry for you? It certainly cancels out the flirting.”

Alistair laughed. “Ah, yes, that  _ is  _ rather a gift of mine. Sometimes I hang about my wife at state events, just so I can disrupt the charms of her lovers. I mean, if I can’t have any fun, why should she?”

“Is it really that bad?” Dorian moved a bishop out of harm’s way.

“Ohhhhh yes,” Alistair said at once. “I blundered quite a bit in the beginning, you know. Not really cut out for the throne, in case you hadn’t noticed. And I was a wreck after Solona died. Anora might’ve learned to tolerate me, had I not been so wrapped up in grieving.”

“Solona - you mean the Hero of Ferelden?” Dorian guessed. Alistair hadn’t made his move yet, but the mage didn’t press him on it. 

Alistair nodded. “While I was distracted, the Queen managed to gobble up a great deal of power. I suppose she didn’t have much choice - I was largely useless. She needed me, of course. I’ve got the royal blood, and the popular support. But for years, my only role was to be trotted out at events, a figurehead. By the time I was remotely interested in companionship again, I could hardly trust anyone aside from my closest advisors. Anyone I got close to could be used against me. Now that I’m on better footing politically, most people are only looking for the influence that comes with being the king’s lover. And that kind of fun is rather unsatisfying, to tell the truth.” A look of horror spread across his face. “By the Maker, listen to me. I’m sorry. Please forget everything I just said. And possibly that I exist at all.” He shook his head ruefully.

“Alistair.” Dorian gave the name a bit of snap; Alistair looked up automatically. Dorian leaned forward. “No need to apologize. I know quite well how it feels to be alone.” 

Alistair nodded, taken aback by the sincerity. Dorian smiled and leaned back in his chair. “So. I won’t hear another word of apology. The important thing is, you’re here now. You can just relax and have fun. And for the love of the Maker, move a piece already. I’ll be an old man by the time we get through.”

“Fine, fine. Check.” Alistair said, moving a knight into position.

Dorian blinked at the board, aghast. “Of all the cheeky... I thought you said you weren’t very good!”

“No, I said I hadn’t played in ages. There’s a difference,” Alistair chuckled. 

Dorian frowned. “That's the last time I feel sorry for you. Distracting me with your heart-rending stories and your piercing eyes and your...  _ cheekbones.” _ Dorian squinted at him angrily, even as Alistair covered his mouth and laughed.

“Getting along, I see?” Cullen walked up the garden path.

“Your friend is a terrible man and his freckles should be outlawed.” Dorian sniffed, folding his arms. “He deliberately downplayed his skill and then distracted me from the game. Check in four moves. Pssh. I should demand a rematch.”

Alistair was still snickering. “I think I’ve laughed more in the last day and a half than in the past year.”

“Finally had a taste of your own medicine, eh Dorian? I’m sorry I missed it,” Cullen said, winking at Alistair.

“You Chantry boys are horrible,” Dorian griped, refusing to look at either of them. “Do they give out lessons in ‘disarmingly bashful’? ‘How to blush to best effect’? ‘Stammering with charm, 101’? I see how it is now.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can find a way to make it up to you,” Cullen smirked, putting his hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “Care to lose twice in a row?”

“A challenge?” Dorian glared at Cullen. “Fine. To the winner go the spoils.”

Alistair rose, letting Cullen have the seat. He hunkered down on the ground beside the Commander’s chair, leaning back on his elbows into the warm grass. “What are the spoils?”

Cullen's eyes were riveted to the board; he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Dorian, meanwhile, gave a very naughty laugh. “The loser has to be the botto-”

“Oh sweet Maker,” Alistair laughed, covering his face with his hands and flopping back on the grass. “Enough, enough! This place is ridiculous, I tell you.”

Cullen still stared at the board, and though his cheeks were crimson, he was snickering. Dorian, meanwhile, shrugged, a satisfied smirk twitching under his moustache. He crossed his legs, the picture of sanguine elegance. “Well, it’s not like there’s really a loser in that scenario, to be fair.”

The three of them chatted as the game progressed, thankfully past three moves and much more thankfully with milder topics of conversation. 

At one point, the game to a halt as Cullen surveyed the board, his arm on his knee, one finger tapping his lip. Alistair knelt up to see what the delay was. After a glance at the pieces he looked up at Cullen, one eyebrow arched in confusion. “Really? Come on. How many times did I put you in this exact position? Did you learn nothing from me, or have you forgotten it all?”

Cullen had been a passable chess player, but Alistair was excellent. Not much else to do in a monastery, after all. Plus he had access to books on strategy. He’d taught Cullen quite a bit, though it appeared not as much as he’d thought. They would play side-by-side, so that Cullen had to shift his perspective, alternating between facing the board from a defensive and offensive posture. 

“Hush, Alistair,” Cullen said, not looking at him. 

Alistair shrugged. He leaned up against the Commander’s legs, looping an arm over the man’s knee without even thinking about it. Cullen put a hand on Alistair’s head, still frowning at the pieces. He stroked the strawberry hair absently, deep in thought. 

“Aha!” Cullen said triumphantly, shifting a rook with his free hand. Alistair grinned in satisfaction. 

Dorian leaned forward to put his queen into play, fingers hovering over the ebony. 

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Alistair said.

“Hey, who's side are you on, anyway?” Cullen said, scruffing his hair.

Alistair laughed, leaning into the gesture. “I helped you before. It’s only fair.” 

“Ah, noblesse oblige.” Dorian sighed, switching tactics to move a bishop. “Nice to be on the receiving end, for once. And, gentlemen, not to spoil what appears to be a touching moment, but you may want to alter your posture somewhat. Tongues will wag, you know.”

Alistair and Cullen both realized how they were sitting at the same time, scrambling to untangle themselves from each other. And not a moment too soon. 

“Well, isn’t this lovely.” Vira said, sauntering up to the game. “I hate to interrupt, but it’s time for the war council, gentlemen.” Vira said lightly. 

Alistair stood and brushed himself off, hoping desperately she hadn’t seen them practically in each other’s laps. “And it was so nice, pretending not to be King for a moment.”   


“But... our game!” Dorian protested. 

Alistair glanced at the board. “Dorian’s got it in three,” he said.

“What?” Cullen frowned. “Are you sure?”

Vira sized up the layout of the pieces. “He’s right. Nicely done, Dorian.”

Dorian grinned up at the Commander sweetly, raising an eyebrow. “Well. That  _ definitely  _ makes up for my humiliating defeat earlier. Enjoy your war council, Chantry boys.” 

***

The council negotiations with King Alistair went smoothly, as Vira expected. The strong ties between Ferelden and the Inquisition ensured it wasn’t likely to be a painful process. The trickiest thing was figuring out what Alistair had to offer the Inquisition in peacetime. In the end, he agreed to set aside space in the extremely limited Denerim docks for Inquisition ships. In return, Vira would close the remaining rifts in the Korcari Wilds. Which, true, she’d been planning to do anyway. Still. It was nice to get thanks for doing the work. And no doubt the King would be able to garner significant goodwill from his people by securing the Wilds from further demonic activity. Having the support of a popular king would benefit the Inquisition.

Once business was concluded and her advisors began to file out of the war room, Vira spoke up. “Your majesty, there is something I’d like to discuss. In private. Can you stay a moment?”

“Of course.”

Vira ignored the concerned glance that Alistair shot towards Cullen. As the door closed, she hopped to sit on the war table.

“What can I do for you?” Alistair’s voice was shot through with nerves.

“You can relax, for one. I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that,” Vira laughed.

The king’s chuckle indicated that he was currently incapable of relaxing.

“It’s about Anora,” Vira explained.

Alistair raised an eyebrow in surprise. “What about her?”

Vira chose her words carefully. “It has not escaped my notice that she’s not here. If Empress Celene can bring the entire Orlesian court across the Frostbacks, the Queen could certainly handle an easy carriage ride on the Imperial Highway in summer. So. I’m thinking either she’s deliberately trying to offend me, or there’s something preventing her from traveling. Such as being with child.”

Alistair’s eyes widened. “Maker’s breath. How could you possibly... yes, she’s pregnant.”

Vira nodded. “Well, I’m glad she’s not trying to cross me, at any rate. That would be phenomenally stupid.”

“I can see that,” he grinned.

Vira paused. “So, given what I know of your relationship, I have to ask. Is it yours?” Vira asked.

“No idea,” Alistair said sadly. “I hope so, of course. There’s no love lost between us, but she was devoted to Cailan. She has great respect for the bloodline, if not the actual person carrying it currently.”

“How far along is she?”

“The healers say four months.”

Vira slid down from the table and walked to the window. “I think we can assume the best. The timing of it is telling. If she was trying to humiliate you by having a child from another man, surely she’d have done it ages ago, when you were powerless. And she certainly wouldn’t have waited until the height of the recent crisis. Too risky.”

“Being a Warden makes things difficult. Trust me, I’ve been slogging away at it once a month for a decade.” Alistair grumbled.

“You make it sound like torture,” Vira said, looking over her shoulder at him. “I’ve heard Anora is quite beautiful.”

“Well it’s definitely not  _ fun,” _ he said, coming to look out the window. “She just lays there, you know, with her eyes shut. Sometimes she sighs in frustration -  _ that's _ quite a turn-on, let me tell you. Ooh, when she has to stifle a yawn? Mmm-hmm. Classic Anora.”

“What?” Vira spluttered, laughing. “Are you kidding? Does she... not like sex? Or men?”

“Oh no, she does. Just not this one.” Alistair pointed to himself. “I tried, at first, you know, to, um... do... things. Since we’re stuck having to do it, might as well enjoy it, right? She wasn’t having any of it. She told me in no uncertain terms that she doesn’t  want  to enjoy it. And she doesn’t want me to, either. Aside from, you know, enough to finish and Maker’s breath, I can’t believe I’m having this discussion with you.”

Vira squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her temples. “Let me get this straight. Anora purposefully forces herself to  _ not  _ enjoy having sex with a handsome man every month, out of spite? Fenedhis. And people tell me  _ I’m _ ruthless.” She blew air through her lips in disbelief.

When she opened her eyes, Vira was surprised at how close Alistair stood. He had a suspicious look on his face. “You... think I’m handsome.”

Vira tilted her head. “Quite, your majesty.”

“Oh.” He stood there, frozen.

“Is that a problem? I can certainly pretend I don’t, if you prefer.” Vira leaned on the window sill, her arms crossed.

He hung his head. “No, I...” Alistair exhaled sharply and reset his shoulders. “It’s been a long time since anyone without something to gain has told me that.”

Vira felt a pang of sympathy. But no, not a pang - that implied a fleeting sensation. This... whatever it was, did not wane. She found herself wanting to comfort him. That wasn’t surprising, in and of itself; she would feel the same about any of her companions. What surprised her was that she wanted more than that - not just to offer succor, but to prevent future pain. She wanted to be a balm for his loneliness. She wanted to be there for him. She wanted  _ him, _ dammit.

With a deep breath, she pushed that aside, trying to keep her voice light. “How do you know I don’t have something to gain? And besides, you’d be surprised how many of us here have been desperately lonely.”

He huffed a laugh. “From what Cullen’s told me, it sounds like you’re all trying to make up for lost time.”

Apparently Cullen had spoken to Alistair about having them both. Vira swallowed against her rising nervousness. “Maybe we are, Alistair. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

The King didn’t say anything. He stepped closer, resting his forearm on the wall above her shoulder. As he had the other day on the battlements, he leaned over her. Now, though, his expression was serious, intent. There was little chance he was about to make a cheese-related joke.

Vira tensed, expecting a kiss. Desperately, she tried to calm herself. It was perfectly fine for her to kiss him. Cullen would probably laugh at her if she explicitly asked for permission for something as small as a kiss, especially not after the scene he described in such lurid detail last night. Why was she so nervous? The kiss that loomed over them was not just about sex, or fun. It was a precipice.

But Alistair didn’t kiss her. Instead, he breathed into the crook of her neck, not touching her. The sensation of his breath made her gasp.

At the sound, he reared back slightly, looking at her face. His own mouth was open, just a bit; Vira could hear the little sighs of air as it rushed through his teeth. He stared at her parted lips, then back to her eyes.

He leaned further, in fractions of an inch, until she could feel the heat from his lips on her own. Still, he paused there, his breath shuddering. Whether he was trying to heighten the anticipation, or was trying to overcome some trepidation, the effect on Vira was the same. She throbbed for him, a bloom of wet heat settling between her legs, and they weren’t even touching.

The brush of his lips against hers would have been chaste, were those lips not parted, the breath hot, the body shivering. He did it again - dragging his lips against her own, not even a kiss, really. And again, harder this time, the hint of a groan outlining his breath. And again, pausing now, his lips quivering on hers, as they shared the air between them.

“I want you so badly.” Vira could taste his words as much as hear them, ghosting across her lips. A whine broke from her throat, a tiny sound forming the idea of  _ yes.  _ A noise of fear and need.

The sound of a knock, followed by the metal latch clanking on the door, shattered the moment. Alistair took one step backwards, swiftly and calmly, as if he’d been planning that all along. Vira, meanwhile, turned her head to the window, as if she was contemplating the mountains.

The heavy wood scraped across the floor. Vira forced herself to look, though she knew it would be Cullen. She smiled at him. It felt like a lie, that smile, and the fact of it twisted in her stomach.

“Sorry - ah...” Cullen pointed over his shoulder. “Do you want me to have some lunch sent in?”

“No, that's fine,” Vira said. “I think we’re just about done, don’t you?” She looked at Alistair.

He shrugged. “I don’t have anything further to add.” His face was the blank mask he’d worn when he first arrived. Vira wondered if this was all Anora ever saw. She wondered why that hurt so much to think about.


	6. A New Sensation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New experiences colored through old memories, for both Alistair and Vira.

Skyhold, being a buzzing hive of activity, spared Vira no quarter to process what just happened. Varric diverted her attention, catching Vira's elbow as soon as she took three steps into the Great Hall. 

“- so given everything, why don’t I call in my friend to take a look?” The dwarf was looking at her for an answer.

She blinked.

“Maker’s balls. You haven’t heard anything I just said, have you?” Varric rubbed his eyes.

“Varric, I’m so, so sorry. I promise. I’m listening now.” She put a hand on his shoulder, even as she watched Cullen and Alistair walk out of the hall over his shoulder.

He snorted. “You’re joking, right? Listen, Vira, I’m your spymaster now, so it’s kinda my job to pry. What the hell’s going on?” Varric asked.

Vira rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, Varric.” She sighed. “I think I’m going to go a few rounds with a practice dummy. Clear my head.”

He nodded. “All right. But you owe me some answers.” 

Back in her quarters, Vira changed into a well-worn set of leather armor. The act of strapping and tightening the buckles was a calming ritual; her breath slowed along with her thoughts as she suited up. She carefully selected a pair of daggers from her weapon rack, spinning them a few times to re-acquaint herself with the balance. The heft of the metal felt solid in her hand.

Vira made her way to the practice ring in the courtyard. The dummies were not currently being used; most of the troops were at lunch. Good. No one to get in her way.

Easing into the cool, blank mental space she’d mastered as an assassin, Vira's blades whirled as she danced around the targets, slicing them to shreds. No annoying romantic angst, no bothersome questions, no memories of lips brushing hers. Just metal and motion.

After Vira had thoroughly demolished the first dummy, she heard Bull shift his weight behind her. “Hello, Bull,” she said, not turning.

“Got some stress to work off?” he asked.

“You could say that,” Vira said, rolling her shoulders.

“You wanna have a go?” 

Vira chuckled. “A little busy, at the moment, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Not like that. I mean in the ring.”

The Inquisitor turned. “You mean... spar? With you?”

“Why not? We’ve been fighting side by side for over a year. I think I know most of your moves by now.” He grinned at her.

“Why not?” Vira agreed. “It’ll be fun. I think.”

“That’s what I like about you, Boss.” Bull hefted his greataxe over one shoulder and held out his hand gallantly. “After you, my lady Inquisitor,” he said, bowing.

“Dorian is rubbing off on you,” Vira said. 

Bull snorted a laugh. “Yeah he is.”

***

“Would you care for some lunch, Alistair?” Cullen asked him as they walked out of the Great Hall. “I have to file a few reports first, but it shouldn’t take long.” 

“Yes, that’d be great.” Alistair saw Vira talking to Varric out of the corner of his eye. He sighed, wondering how badly he’d ruined things by trying to kiss her in the war room. He should just stay away from the woman, he decided. He was only here a few more days, after all.  _ Just enjoy the time with Cullen. You can’t have them both. _

They made their way to the Commander’s office. Alistair busied himself with a book, sitting by the window as Cullen shuffled through the parchment on his desk. Couriers came and went, as Cullen slogged through the arduous tedium of manning an army.

Alistair didn’t actually read the book. His eyes stared at the page without seeing it, the feeling of Vira’s trembling lips burning through him. 

Perhaps fifteen minutes had passed, when Cullen turned to him. “I’m just about done,” Cullen said. “One more report and we can go.”

“Take your time,” Alistair said. There was a noise outside the window. Alistair rose to investigate. “Maker’s breath,” he spluttered. “She’s  _ sparring?” _

Cullen hurried over and looked out the window as Vira and Bull circled the ring. A small crowd had gathered to watch. “Interesting. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen them go at it. Well, not like this, at any rate,” he joked.

Alistair squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment as Cullen continued. “Come on. Let’s go watch. You’re going to want to see this. Vira is a force of nature.”

The Commander wasn’t kidding. Alistair realized quickly that he was blushing as he watched the Inquisitor’s tiny, lithe body whirl through the ring. He forced himself into a blank facade, his “King” face, as he called it. No reason to let the entire Inquisition know just how badly he wanted her, after all.

But by the  _ Maker _ , she was  _ incredible _ . Her blades moved so fast he could hardly see them. She dipped and spun around the massive Qunari, dodging his attacks with acrobatic aplomb. At one point she grasped the haft of Bull’s greataxe as a point of leverage, flinging herself through the air. And then she scampered up the Iron Bull’s body like a squirrel -- well, if squirrels armed themselves with daggers, that is. She had her knife at his throat, a wicked smile on her face, her legs wrapped around his chest.

Bull was smiling at her, an indulgent, fond expression, one that she returned in kind. The Qunari laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist to support her. If it weren’t for the dagger, they could’ve been about to kiss. Alistair could see the casual intimacy in the way they looked at each other. It seemed a friendly sort of thing. It seemed fun.

It was nothing like the look she had given Alistair in the war room. Whatever they were tiptoeing around, it traced the edges of something big, something much more than just a fling. Something dangerous. And that, he knew, was a dead end. All the more reason to stay away. 

The warrior whispered something into Vira’s ear as she sheathed her blades. Alistair saw the delicious way her lips curved up as she began to respond. 

And then she looked over Bull’s shoulder and saw Alistair. His mask fell for an instant; all his longing and need was naked, exposed. She froze. Alistair winced, looking away. He composed his face once more.

When he turned back, Vira was walking up to them. “Hello, boys,” she said lightly. “Enjoy the show?” 

“Not as much as some you've given me,” Cullen winked at her. “Join us for lunch?”

“I need to change and wash up. I’ll meet you there,” she said, standing on tiptoes to give Cullen a brief kiss. Alistair looked everywhere but at her.

Cullen lead Alistair through a door into the keep. The corridor was only lit by a few torches and the corners were full of cobwebs; clearly it was not a popular route. “Is this a shortcut?” Alistair asked.

The Commander laughed. “No,” he said. “But it is very private.” 

They turned a corner, and then Cullen was standing close, his hand trailing up Alistair’s neck. “Maker, I just... I wanted to... just for a moment?”

Alistair drew in a sharp breath as desire slammed into him. The combination of his desperate longing for Vira and the sensation of Cullen’s fingertips was potent. He turned his head towards Cullen's hand, lips parted. 

With a groan, Cullen traced the line of Alistair’s lips before he plunged his fingers into the King’s mouth, his eyes fluttering closed as Alistair began to suck.

Then hands and mouths were everywhere, the damp must of the basement piercing them with memory. But they were no longer initiates; their touch was sure, their kisses certain. 

_ You can’t have her, but you can have this. And this is more than you’d ever hoped for.  _ Cullen's hand was stroking him through the fabric of his breeches, the laces coming undone. Alistair pushed his back into the wall for support as Cullen slowly sank to his knees. 

Alistair bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. They’d never done this - too risky for initiates, no possibility for hasty escapes or plausible denials. Not that Alistair hadn’t dreamed of it, often, imagined the way Cullen's lips would feel wrapped around him, the way his tongue would slide around the crown, the way the wet fingers would twist and stroke.

The reality shamed his imagination. 

With a whimper, Alistair fought the urge to buck his hips. Maker, it had been so long. When was the last time? When Zevran had come through Denerim. How long ago was that? Desperately, he tried to remember, doing the math in his head, anything to hold it together, to not come so fast, to make it last. 

And then Cullen moaned around his cock. Alistair had no chance. He came undone, spurting into Cullen's mouth, the man’s hands holding his hips as he bucked.

The Commander rose. “Maker, I‘ve wanted that for so long.” Cullen said into his ear, nuzzling at his neck as Alistair shuddered, too far gone to recognize how tender, how loving the gesture was. “I never could resist you.”

The King brought faltering hands up to try to touch Cullen, to reciprocate. 

“No, shh, don’t.” The Commander’s lips dragged along his jaw. “This was just for you.”

“Thank you,” Alistair managed to say at last. “That sounds so inadequate.”

“Oh, have no fear, you can make it up to me. Later,” Cullen purred. With a devilish half-grin, the Commander pulled away. “For now, I’m starving. Let’s get lunch.”

***

Vira found the dining hall all but deserted by the time she’d changed out of her armor. Cullen and Alistair were there, though, helping themselves to bread and cheese. “There you are,” Cullen smiled at her. 

Vira leaned down to give him a kiss. He froze for just an instant, startled. Her eyes widened in surprise, flicking to Alistair. There was a very distinctive pollen scent lingering on Cullen's lips. 

The King, meanwhile, busied himself with selecting an apple from the bowl on the table, looking for all the world as if it was the most important decision in all of Thedas. 

“So, sparring with Bull, eh?” Cullen said, covering the moment. “What brought that on?”

“Oh, just had some extra energy to work through. Not used to being cooped up for so long, you know?” Vira said, hoping it was as remotely convincing as  _ I really want to fuck the King but I might be falling in love with him, and now all I can think about is how he would taste. _

“You get used to it,” Alistair warned. “And then the next thing you know, you’ve gone months without being freezing and damp and covered in mosquito bites. That’s when you know your life is over.”

Vira laughed. “Dalish don’t get mosquito bites, your majesty.”

“What, never?” Alistair looked to Cullen for confirmation. 

The Commander looked just as confused. “Really? You never told me that,” Cullen laughed.

She shrugged. “I suppose we must not taste very good.”

Alistair snorted. “I can’t imagine you’re anything but delicious. Aaand there’s my voice, talking out loud again. Wonderful.” 

Cullen was laughing so hard Vira was afraid he might choke on his bread. “How do you get through state dinners?” 

“By not opening my mouth.” Alistair grumbled. “Except to eat, of course.”

From somewhere in the keep, a bell tolled twice. “Maker’s breath. I must dash. Troop inspections. I’m sure I’ll see you later, Alistair. Vira?” Cullen rose and started to back out of the room.

“Meeting Dorian in a bit. Come find me?” 

He quirked a half-smile at her. “Of course.”

There was an awkward moment of silence where Alistair contemplated the apple core in his hand. “Well. I suppose I should go,” he said slowly. “How do I get out of here, again?” He looked at the doors in confusion.

Something in Vira wanted to shout  _ don’t go!  _ Desperation not being her best look, she settled on a more reasoned approach: bribery. “Not leaving yet, are you? You haven’t tried the cheese,” Vira said, handing him a board with the remains of a few wedges on it. “The yellow one is our specialty. The cooks make it from goat milk.”

“Well, I could never resist a beautiful woman offering me cheese,” he said, reaching for a knife. “It’s quite good,” he said, tasting a slice. “Reminds me of edam.”

Vira shrugged. “I don’t really know anything about cheese, to tell you the truth. I only just had it for the first time a few weeks ago.”

“What? How... how can you go through life without having tried  _ cheese?” _ Alistair was appalled. 

Vira laughed. “Cullen said the same thing. My clan didn’t make cheese, what can I say?”

“Oh, see, you’ve missed out on so much. Here, let me show you.” He came around to sit beside her. “Now, since this is a goat cheese, it’s much tangier than if it were from a cow,” he said, slicing off a tiny bit.

Vira took the morsel and ate it, her eyebrow cocked in amusement. The man really, really seemed to enjoy cheese. His eyes lit up as he had her try several varieties, first plain and then paired with various fruits. She had to admit, she’d never noticed the subtle flavors he was pointing out. And his enthusiasm was infectious. 

“Now, this one looks to be... I’m going to say stilton.” Alistair brought the board up to his nose, smelling the blue-veined wedge.

Vira wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I’ll like that one,” she warned.

“Because it’s smelly?” Alistair guessed. “Ah, but Inquisitor, there you would be wrong. Trust me. It doesn’t taste like it smells. Just try it.” He handed her a morsel of the soft cheese, scootching his chair closer.

Vira took a tentative bite, conscious of his expectant eyes on her.

“What do you taste?” He broke off a bit of the cheese and ate it.

“Mmm, it’s kind of musty. And... bitter?”

“Exactly. Now, try it again, this way.” He drizzled a piece with honey. “Oh, er, sorry. Rather sticky.” 

She struggled to get the bit of cheese from his fingers without smearing honey all over. Vira popped the bite into her mouth. It was surprisingly tasty. “Oh, that’s good,” she said. “It tastes so different.”

“See?” Alistair grinned. “Someday we should do this with wine, as well.” 

“We should,” she agreed. “Er, I seem to have rather gotten honey all over my hands. Is there a napkin anywhere?” She absently licked the sticky mess from her fingers.

Alistair’s face flamed bright red. “Ah, I don’t... see one,” he said, twisting all around. “Must be one about, though, right?” 

“It’s fine,” she said. “Er, I think I’ve got it all.” Just as she was sucking the last of it off her fingers, he turned. 

Alistair seemed transfixed by the sight of Vira pulling her thumb through her pursed lips. Without even thinking, she slowed the motion under his scrutiny, dragging it out from a simple gesture to one fraught with tension. 

“Ah,” he stuttered, unable to rip his eyes away. 

She yanked her fingers away and hurriedly wiped her hand on her trousers. “So. I have to go meet Dorian, but I’d be happy to bring you somewhere in the keep, if there’s something you need to attend to? Or I can show you back to your quarters?”

“My... quarters?” Alistair blinked. “Oh. Er. Yes, that would be very helpful.”

“My pleasure,” Vira said, standing up. 

As they headed out of the room towards the little-used back stairs, Vira tried to keep the quaver from her voice as she asked, “So, what did you think of Cullen's proposal?” She paused on the landing, not looking at him.

“Ah... I’m sorry?” Alistair asked.

Vira wheeled on him. “He... didn’t talk to you?” 

“Nooo?” Alistair raised an eyebrow.

“Creators,” Vira muttered to herself. No wonder he’d been so reluctant to kiss her in the war room. He probably thought he was doing something wrong. Vira felt shaky. What had it taken for him to even attempt it? The idea that he wanted her badly enough to overcome his trepidation made her knees go weak. She stumbled slightly, putting a hand to the wall for support. 

Alistair’s arm shot out at once, circling her waist. “Are you alright?” 

“Sorry, dizzy spell,” she said, rubbing her fingertips on her forehead. She was conscious of the fact that he was still holding her close. “Listen, Alistair, there’s no easy way to say this,” she began.

He backed away at once. “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have... in the war room. Especially, with Cullen, and... It won’t happen again.”

Vira laughed weakly. “You misunderstand. Cullen wants both of us. Together.” 

Time seemed to stand still. Alistair blinked several times, his face a blank mask. “What?”

“Ah, he... thought... we all could... Creators, the man is wearing off on me. I never used to have trouble talking about these things.” Vira shook her head. “He wants to sleep with us both at the same time. I thought perhaps he’d talked to you about it already.”

The redhead continued to stare at her, expressionless. The moment stretched out, the guttering of the torch the only sound.

“It’s not a... don’t feel obligated,” Vira said. “It’s not for everyone.”

Finally, Alistair reacted; he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he closed the distance between them.

There was no hesitation this time. One hand drew her closer, pulling her to him, while the other cupped her cheek. His lips found hers as if they’d done this hundreds of times. She gasped in surprise and pleasure, giving his tongue the opportunity to slide gently along hers. At her answering moan, he became bolder, claiming her mouth. 

Alistair threw himself into this kiss, clearly reveling in every sensation, eager but not demanding, somehow both selfish and responsive. She sucked in his lower lip; the quiet  _ ngh _ that escaped from his mouth shot straight between her legs. 

Without breaking the kiss, he ran his thumb up the line of her cheekbone to her ear, tracing the delicate skin from lobe to tip. Vira moaned loudly, her eyes flying open. Alistair pulled back just slightly so that he could watch her face. He repeated the gesture, now bringing his other hand up to mirror the caress. 

Vira whined, squirming her thighs together to ease the growing throb of pleasure as Alistair’s fingers swept over the sensitive skin. This was an entirely new experience for Vira. She knew her ears were sensitive, of course. She enjoyed it when Cullen would nip at her earlobe, but that was as far as it usually went. The pleasure coursing through her was unexpected. Alistair, however, seemed to anticipate it; his touch was practiced and certain. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked quietly, ghosting his lips over hers.

“Oh no no, don’t stop.... ah!” Vira grimaced in shock as his fingers now traced the outer and inner edges of her ears at the same time. The pleasure was incredibly intense. Her hips began to buck.

Alistair licked his lips, his breath coming quicker as he watched her struggle with the pleasure. He brought his knee forward, bending slightly. With a moan, Vira straddled his leg, rutting herself against it. She was desperate for release, throbbing. Some part of her knew she should stop. She shouldn't be this out of control. But her universe was rapidly collapsing down to nothing but the sensation of Alistair’s fingers on her ears. She cursed under her breath. 

“Do you want to stop?” He asked again.

“N-no,” Vira gasped, her hips now rocking against him fast. The sensations were overwhelming.

“Are you... close?” He whispered, his breath hitching in short gasps in time with her own, spurring her on. His fingers moved quickly, lightly brushing the now over-sensitive skin in time to the movement of her hips.

“Fuck. Yes.” Now it wasn’t a gasp, but a moan. She shouldn't be close. It was illicit, impossible. It would take very little to send her over the edge. 

The sound of clinking glasses and plates drifted up the stairs behind her, catching her attention. The dining hall was being cleared in preparation for the evening meal. The momentary distraction was enough to disrupt her mounting release, and the realization hit her.

_ You are about to have an orgasm in a stairwell like some sex-starved teenager. _

The fear of being caught was a wellspring of icy dread, not felt since she was a lonely, ostracized elf of eighteen. The memory descended on her: the eyes of her clan’s hunters, sneering, watching her writhe in the forest on top of the human called Thomas, waiting until she’d lost all control, only to drag her back to her clan, humiliated and bound, doomed to exile. 

Gritting her teeth, Vira yanked Alistair’s hands away. “Stop. I... shouldn’t.” Her voice was rough. Vira winced with shame at her lack of control. Rutting in a back hallway, about to come apart just because he touched her ears? She was supposed to be the Inquisitor. If nothing else, she may have just completely lost the respect of the King of Ferelden. 

Alistair’s face fell at her reaction. “Maker, I’m sorry. I’ve upset you. I shouldn’t have... damn,” he cursed himself quietly. “I thought you... I thought you wanted....” 

“I did. I... do,” Vira said, laying a hand on his chest. Her breath was still unsteady. “I’m not upset at you. I’m upset at myself.” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “That was just... unexpected. No one’s ever.... I’m embarrassed,” she admitted quietly, forcing the words to her lips. “Creators only know what you must think of me now.”

“Ah, good things?” He offered tentatively. “That you’re incredible and beautiful and sexy and strong and brave and smart and --”

The litany snapped Vira from her negative spiral. She interrupted him with a breathy laugh and a finger over his lips. “Stop. Too much of that and I’m likely to fall --” Vira stopped herself, “-- fall for it.” It wasn’t what she was going to say.  _ Dammit. Bad to worse. _ “I should... I should probably get you to your quarters,” she said. “Dorian tends to pout when I keep him waiting.” 

She could feel him looking at her in concern. That was the last thing she needed right now. Vira kept her gaze firmly on his chest as she cleared her throat. “So. Your quarters are this way, your majesty,” she said, opening a door from the landing and gesturing down the hallway. “Take a left at the corner, second door on your right. I’ll see you later, I’m sure.” 

He tilted his head, worry etched on his face. “Are you sure you’re all right?” 

Vira’s laugh bordered on the hysterical. “No.” Without thinking, she looked up at him, his eyes full of concern and lust and something else, something like a yearning fear, the same push-pull that she felt. 

He raised his hand as if to stroke her cheek, but let it drop when she jerked her head back slightly. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. He shut his eyes, crumpling inward.

Vira took a deep breath. “It’s okay. I’ll... be fine,” she said, conjuring false sincerity and injecting it into her voice. She wrangled a smile into shape. A year of playing Wicked Grace with Varric and Josephine paid dividends; Alistair smiled and nodded in relief, believing the lie. This time, when he brought his hand up to cradle her cheek, she leaned into the gesture. The warmth of his hand was almost enough to turn lie into truth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Vira's encounter with Thomas can be found in [Chapter 4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3702131/chapters/8250799) of Dread Wolf's Legacy.


	7. A Slight Miscalculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vira talks it over with Dorian; Alistair makes a grave error in judgement.

Vira found Dorian in his library nook, frowning at a page of text. “That good?” she asked, nodding at the book. “You haven’t tossed it away, so I assume there’s some merit, at least.”

“It’s not _utter_ drivel,” he admitted. “But I’m glad you’re here to drag me away. I need a break.”

“And I need a bath. I don’t suppose....” She smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes.

“Fine, fine,” he said, heaving himself to his feet. “But you must ply my water-heating skills with wine, I’ll have you know.”

They spent much of the afternoon ensconced in basins in the bathhouse, surrounded by heaping piles of suds. Vira had liberated a bottle of Orlesian white from the cellar; Dorian helpfully kept the wine cool and the bathwater hot.

Dorian swished the bubbles, releasing the delicate floral fragrance. “I suppose this isn’t a terrible way to spend an afternoon,” he admitted, holding his glass out for a refill.

Vira leaned over to pour. “It has been rather a stressful day,” she said. The steam from the bath instantly condensed on the crystal.

Dorian sipped his wine. “Has it?” He didn’t meet her eyes.

“A bit,” she laughed. “We kissed. Alistair and I. Er, actually it was rather much more than a kiss.”

Dorian’s eyebrow shot up. “Oh? And?”

“It was...” She tilted her head to one side. “... Dangerous,” she concluded.

“Oooh, I like the sound of that,” Dorian growled in his throat.

Despite her anxiety, Vira laughed. “Dangerous as in, it felt like cheating. Even though it’s not.”

“Oh. Well. That’s no good,” Dorian frowned. “How so?”

“Feelings are starting to emerge.” Vira scooped up a handful of bubbles and blew them out of her palm.

“Ah. _Feelings._ Dratted things. He can certainly be charming, in that bashful Chantry boy way,” Dorian nodded.

Vira groaned. “I know. Creators, I know. And yet, it’s different from Cullen,” she reasoned. “Cullen was a stammering mess at first, but it was only because he was holding back. You know he’s a lion under all that stuttering.”

“Oh, I am _well aware,”_ Dorian smirked.

Vira grinned at him. “Alistair’s... not. He’s like a puppy, all warm and squishy and eager to please. I just want to, I don’t know, pinch his cheeks or something.”

“You’d risk cutting yourself on those cheekbones.”

Vira took a sip of her wine. “And he’s so _funny._ Dorian, he has me laughing all the time.” She sighed. “He even got me to eat the stinky cheese.”

Dorian looked at her, his face serious. “You, my darling, are utterly smitten, and it is absolutely enchanting. What are you going to do?”

“That’s a good question.” She took a sip of wine. “Cullen asked whether I’d be interested in a night with both of them, and I already agreed. I didn’t realize it would be... complicated.” Vira said.

“Mmm, and if you back out, you’ll have to explain why,” Dorian mused.

“Exactly,” Vira said.

Dorian heaved a dramatic sigh. “Ah well, you’ll just have to force yourself to go through with it, I suppose. It’ll be a huge sacrifice, of course, all those Chantry boy muscles and pent-up desire and delicious, delicious -” The mage’s reverie was interrupted by the wadded-up washcloth that Vira lobbed at him, hitting him square in the face.

“That’s enough out of you, Pavus.” She laughed, then lolled her head back on the side of the basin. “Shit. What am I going to do?” Vira wiped at her face with her hands.

“You are definitely asking the wrong person,” Dorian admitted. “I would absolutely do it, and damn the consequences. So you might get your heart broken a little. So what? As long as you don’t jeopardize things with Cullen, what’s the harm?”

“Maybe you’re right,” she sighed. Vira realized it wasn’t a question of or, but and. Nothing she’d felt for Alistair even hinted that it would reduce her love for Cullen. But still, it would probably hurt the Commander if he knew she had feelings for Alistair. Wouldn’t it? Could she keep such a thing a secret and live with herself?

“Still, Vira, I know it’s none of my business, but you should probably know. Earlier today, during chess, Cullen and Alistair --”

Vira held up her hand, as her elven ears picked up a distant sound. Vira tilted her head to the side. “Someone’s coming down the hall,” she said, listening to the footsteps as they grew nearer. “It’s them. If I didn’t know any better I’d think the Commander was trying to kill the poor man.” _Or me. I don’t know how much more I can stand._

“He can be unconscionably cruel, it’s true. Believe me, I know.” Dorian drawled.

“Who can be cruel?” Cullen walked through the entrance. Sure enough, Alistair was behind him. The King immediately whirled around when he realized Vira was bathing.

“Maker’s _breath,_ Cullen. Why didn’t you warn me we were going to the baths?” Alistair muttered.

“Aaaaand my point is proven,” Dorian said, raising his wine glass and then draining it.

Vira rolled her eyes. “Commander,” she chided. Vira wondered if Cullen knew about the encounter that she’d had with Alistair in the stairwell. Given the slightly guilty glance the redhead gave her over his shoulder, Vira guessed probably not. Her stomach flipped over.

“What? You said to come find you,” Cullen noted, his face a perfect mask of innocence.

“You going to join us, gentlemen? These tubs are big enough for two each, you know.” Dorian leaned over the side of his basin, refilling the goblet. “Vira, do you have a coin we can flip to see who goes where?”

Vira tossed what she thought was another balled up washcloth at him. Unfortunately, it was actually her smallclothes. And even more unfortunately, Alistair had taken that moment to turn around tentatively, just as the mage held up the article of clothing as if he’d never seen a pair in his life. “What’s this? My dear Vira, I’m flattered.” Dorian said.

Alistair whirled back around, cheeks flaming. “Andraste’s ass.”

“Aaaargh,” she groaned, laughing. “We have to get out of here before Freckles dies of embarrassment.”

“I don’t know. King-killer has such a nice ring to it.” Dorian said. “Vir’athawen Lavellan: King-killer. Mmm, you could get some mileage from that.”

“You know, I can actually hear you,” Alistair pointed out. “And just because I’m mindful of other people’s modesty doesn’t mean I’m a prude.”

“Well, I for one appreciate that,” Vira said, rising out of the soapy water, the drops tinkling around her.

“My dear, you’re covered in soap suds,” Dorian said. “It’s terrible for your skin. You should rinse off. Cullen, fetch the nice lady some fresh water, would you?”

Grinning, Cullen did as he was asked, pumping water into a bucket. After Dorian heated it with a wave, Cullen carefully poured it over her shoulders, letting it cascade down her body. He leaned in for a kiss.

The combination of the hot water and Cullen's probing tongue made Vira shiver. She could feel his lips curl up into a smile through the kiss.

“All right, all right, enough of that,” Dorian said.

Vira opened her eyes as she broke the kiss. Alistair had turned, despite his earlier promises, and was watching her. The look of undisguised, piercing lust made it clear he wanted to finish what he’d started earlier. And soon.

Vira trembled so badly that she lost her footing; Cullen reached out to keep her from falling, then helped her step out of the basin as Alistair turned around once again. She rubbed her skin briskly with a towel, then hurriedly shoved herself into a tunic and leggings.

“Aren’t we forgetting something, my dear?” Dorian grinned, twirling her smallclothes around on his index finger.

Vira rolled her eyes. “Give me those, you ass,” she said, ripping them from his hand. She folded them and put them in her pocket.

“All this wine and hot water has turned me into a prune,” Dorian frowned, contemplating his hands. “How long do we have before dinner?” He also rose and rinsed himself off.

“An hour, hour and a half,” Cullen said.

“Hmmm. Well. I’ll see you gentlefolk later. Now that I’m clean, I must go find Bull. He loves the scent of soap.” Dorian fastened his robes and strolled out.

“Well, good sers,” Vira said, hoping she sounded braver than she felt. “How shall we pass the time?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Cullen said, tracing her jawline with a finger.

***

The route they took to the Inquisitor’s chambers was very circuitous and involved a lot of stairs, but avoided the Great Hall. Alistair got hopelessly turned around. At the end of the final steps, the three emerged into a spacious room, balconies overlooking the mountains, a banked fire waiting in the hearth. And most importantly, an enormous bed.

The King didn’t get much chance to look around before Cullen was kissing his neck, ears, collarbone, the man’s fingers unlacing ties and forcing buttons through holes. He felt his tunic being dragged away behind him. Alistair heard an appreciative groan somewhere near his back, and then a smaller set of lips was nipping and biting along his spine.

They moved towards the bed. Alistair was pushed, gently, to the mattress. Cullen looked down at him with a hungry smile, undressing himself as quickly as he could. Vira, meanwhile, hopped to the bed beside him and was shimmying out of her tunic and leggings with lightning speed.

“What are you waiting for, good boy?” Cullen smirked, unlacing his own breeches and stripping to his smalls.

Alistair hurried to do the same, Vira’s agile hands pulling at the fabric insistently. And then, oh sweet Andraste, she was on top of him, straddling his hips, nestling her crease along his length as she rocked back and forth, whimpering quietly as she kissed his collarbone.

Cullen came around to lay next to them, running his hand down Vira’s spine lightly. She arched up at the touch, hissing.

“It looks like Vira is quite ready for you,” Cullen said, dragging his fingers down her spine, along the crack of her ass, and finally dipping into her. She bucked back against his fingers. “Aren’t you, good girl? Would you like to take him now?” He cooed.

Vira moaned and nodded. It was a wanton sound, all the more alluring on account of its utter sincerity. Alistair gritted his teeth, as much from seeing Vira so caught up in lust as the feeling of her writhing atop him.

“What about you, Alistair? Would you like that?” Cullen asked.

“Oh Maker yes please yes.” He realized his voice was a needy whine, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. And then, oh. Oh. Vira had leaned up slightly and was guiding his cock into her. He arched his back, a gasping squeak catching in his throat.

“Breathe, Alistair,” Cullen said.

Alistair turned his head to look at Cullen. The Commander was smiling at him, his face suffused with lust and wonder. It was almost the end of him. Not that the feeling of Vira sliding herself up and down wasn’t enough.

With a gasp, Alistair realized he was close. Very close. The enormity of the situation began to reveal itself. They’d only been in the room a few minutes, really, and already he was on the verge of spilling himself into a woman he’d met the day before, who was seemingly intent on drawing it out of him as quickly as possible, writhing and moaning. A woman who earned his trust impossibly fast. A woman who had her hands on most of the political power in Thedas. A woman who was, by all accounts, absolutely ruthless when it came to getting her way.

A woman who knew he was about to be a father.

Her remark from the war council rang through his mind: _How do you know I don’t have something to gain?_ Panicking, he shouted. “Stop!”

Vira complied immediately, freezing for the briefest second before scrambling of off him. Alistair saw that her pupils were huge; she probably hadn’t been faking her pleasure, anyway. A wave of guilt crashed into his stomach. Maybe he was wrong. But maybe he wasn’t. Just because she might be enjoying herself didn’t mean he wasn’t being trapped.

“What’s the matter?” Cullen said. The look of concern on his old friend’s face seemed sincere, but then again, how would Alistair know? He hadn’t seen the man in six years, or been close to him in eleven.

Alistair’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. “I’m not... I’m not sure I should be doing this with you.”

It was clear that Vira understood his meaning, even if Cullen did not. “Fenedhis,” she swore, her voice a whisper. “You think I would....” Horror seeped across her face. She looked like she might be sick. Vira sucked in a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed, rocking back and forth slightly, rubbing her temples.

Cullen was frozen. “What’s going on? I don’t understand.”

There was a moment where no one spoke. Alistair pulled his smallclothes back on.

Vira shook her head. She grabbed a robe that hung on the bedpost and wrapped it around herself.

“Vira?” The panic was starting to unravel Cullen a bit.

“Anora’s pregnant.” Vira said.

“Congratulations,” Cullen said, his eyes flicking to Alistair. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“He’s afraid I lured him here to... get me in the same state,” Vira said.

“What??” Cullen spluttered. “Why on earth would you....?”

Vira picked at a thread on the quilt. “Apparently my reputation for ruthlessness precedes me,” she said in a small voice. “If I really wanted to gain a foothold over the throne in Ferelden, that’d be a good start.”

Alistair took a deep breath. Either she was the best actress in the world, or he was completely wrong, and had hurt her feelings. Badly. “Maker take my damn throne, for forcing me to be so suspicious,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Inquisitor.”

She flinched at the sound of her title, pulling the robe closer around her.

“But that's not possible,” Cullen blurted.

“What do you mean, ‘not possible’?” Alistair frowned. “Bastards ascend the throne all the time. I should know.”

Vira didn’t look at him, but rubbed at the green light glinting on her palm. “He means I can’t bear children. Too risky. I’m permanently tied to the Fade. I’m not susceptible to possession, but an unborn child might be. I... take a potion, to make sure it never happens.” She swallowed hard. Cullen laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. Vira took a deep breath. “You’re right, your majesty. There’s no way for you to trust me. I could be lying.”

Cullen was shaking his head in disbelief. “Alistair, you cannot possibly believe Vira would do that, do you?”

Alistair winced. “Well, not _now,”_ he said. “But even if I wasn’t already a bastard, I’m a king. I should be more careful. I just met you yesterday, and.... You’re so charming and lovely and I should never have let myself... and what you said in the war room.... I panicked and... I should... I should just go. I’m sure if I stay I could find a way to make things worse.” Alistair started to slide out of the bed, but then Cullen put his other hand on the king’s shoulder.

“How do you know I’ve got nothing to gain,” Vira said, repeating her words from earlier. “Shit. I meant _this,_ Alistair. I meant getting to be with _you._ ”

Cullen looked at him. “Please, don’t go. Don’t leave it like this. This whole thing is my fault. It never occurred to me that someone would even consider....” Cullen huffed a bitter laugh. “This is why I always lose at chess, isn’t it?”

When Alistair and Vira both said ‘yes’ at the same time, the tension ebbed a bit.

Cullen sighed. “I shouldn’t have put you in this position. I should have talked to you first. I just... Maker’s breath. I was so selfish. I just lo-- want you, and I thought this would be the only way I could....” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Both Vira and Alistair snapped their heads up when Cullen amended his phrasing. They looked at him, then at each other. It wasn’t clear who Cullen had been talking to, precisely.

The silence that ensued was fraught. “Well, this is complicated,” Alistair said finally.

Vira turned her head slightly, looking at the entry stairs. “It’s about to get more complicated. Cole, what are you doing here?” She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers.

Alistair jumped as the blond waif emerged from the staircase. “I thought....” The boy blinked at them.

“Yes, Cole, you want to help, we’re hurting, I know,” Vira sighed, in a tone that suggested she’d had this conversation dozens of times. “But what did I tell you about private moments?”

“You said never when two people are together and at least one of them is naked,” Cole said. “But there are three of you. And you’re not naked.” He tilted his head in confusion.

Cullen's shoulders were shaking with silent laughter as he looked away from the boy. Vira had an exasperated look on her face, though she too was chuckling under her breath. Alistair cleared his throat. “So.... is this a thing, then?”

“Welcome to the Inquisition, your majesty,” Vira said, rolling her eyes.

 

 


	8. To Resurrect a Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vira, Alistair, and Cullen try to discuss things like adults.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUUUUUUUUUUUT. and feels. Enjoy!

The decision to have a frank and probably uncomfortable discussion was made. Well, at some point -- first, dinner was required. Vira ordered food from the guard outside her door, a taciturn man who did not question why she needed dinner for three and a bottle of wine. On second thought, make it two bottles.

To ease tension, Vira and Alistair played chess, lounging in front of the fire. He was very good, Vira was delighted to discover. Quite a challenge. Quite a challenge indeed.

The game stretched on, even after dinner arrived. Cullen took turns handing them each morsels of bread and cheese and fruit as the two combatants chased each other round and round the tiles.

“Your majesty, you are quite a formidable opponent,” Vira said, as he relieved one of her bishops from duty.

“You as well, Inquisitor. I have to say, I’ve never encountered these strategies before. Where did you learn to play chess?” Alistair sipped his wine.

Vira grinned, still looking at the board. “The Free Marches,” she said. “A disgustingly dirty tavern in Ansburg called the Dancing Goat. I was all but exiled from my clan, you know. I had no choice but to go to the shemlen cities - either that, or be a hermit.”

“How did you avoid getting thrown in an alienage?” Alistair asked.

“Well, at the time I had the vallaslin. That helped, looking Dalish. And I’m rather good with my knives, if you hadn’t noticed.” She accepted a grape from Cullen. “Thank you, my dear.”

“So... was there a grandmaster hiding in Ansburg? Because your approach is very unconventional.” Alistair frowned at the board. He carefully made a defensive gesture with a rook.

Vira looked at Cullen. “Should we tell him?”

Cullen shrugged. “It’s your past.”

Alistair looked up at them, his eyes wary.

Vira pursed her lips. Not that the secret was much of a secret. “I... how do I explain this succinctly? You’ve heard of Fen’Harel?”

“The Dalish trickster god?”

“Well, he’s real. Quite real,” she added, laughing despite herself. “At any rate, when I was a baby, he saved me from some giant spiders, while in his wolf-form. As a result, I have his scent, so to speak. It grants me the favor of the wolves,” she said. “They accept me as a wolf. Not werewolves,” she said hurriedly. “Just regular ones. I was essentially raised in a pack. That's why I was exiled. To the Dalish, it’s a curse.”

Alistair tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow cocked. “You were... literally raised by wolves? It sounds like some horribly-written fairy tale. Like a very lazy cliche, in fact. You’re not having me on, are you?”

Cullen laughed. “Such a critic. She’s not making it up. I’ve seen it, in the field. Amazing, really.”

“At any rate, it rather seeped into my personality. Strategy, leadership - I think like a wolf.” Vira said. “It’s a great advantage, except when it’s not.”

“When is it not? Wait, you didn’t try to pee on something to establish dominance, did you?” Alistair said, taking a bit of ham and bread from Cullen. “Like Celene, for instance? I’d have paid good money to see that.”

Vira almost snorted her wine through her nose.

“What? Solona’s mabari did it all the time,” Alistair explained.

“Why are you so delightful?” she sighed under her breath. “You’re just making this harder, you know.”

_“I’m_ making it harder? I thought _you_ were making it harder.” Alistair said. “I haven’t felt this way since I was twenty.”

“I think it’s time we opened this bottle, if we’re talking about that,” Cullen said, reaching for the second bottle of wine. “Damn, I broke the cork. I always break the cork. Dorian never does, blast him, and he always laughs at me.”

“Cullen, he’s an altus. He was born knowing how to open wine bottles.” Vira said, holding out her hand. With a long-practiced motion, she popped the broken cork into the bottle with a butter knife.

Alistair was frowning at the board. “I hate to say it, but I think this is going to be a draw.”

Vira pursed her lips. “You might be right.”

“About time. I’m tired of feeding you two,” Cullen laughed.

“Are you?” Vira said, raising an eyebrow. Cullen often fed her, albeit in a much more intimate way, placing bites of food into her mouth, daring her to lick and bite at his fingers, knowing it would earn her a playful spank.

The half-grin Cullen gave her was wicked. “No,” he admitted.

“I didn’t think so. Still,” she said, stretching her feet out towards the fire, “we need to... I don’t know, figure this out. Don’t we? I’ve never talked about it ahead of time.”

The men looked at each other, then at her. She groaned in frustration, looking up to the ceiling as if there were some kind of answers floating in the rafters. Phrases drifted through her mind and were quickly discarded. _You can trust me..._ No, nobody deserving of trust ever says that. _I’m growing rather fond of you, Alistair...._ No, too maudlin. _Please just take me and then stay and live with us and never leave...._ Hell. No. She groaned again. “Why is this so difficult?”

Alistair crawled from his chair to lounge on the floor next to Cullen, his feet toward the fire. “You’re asking the wrong person. I’m terrible with this sort of thing,” he said. “I picked a rose for Solona in Lothering, before the blight destroyed the village. When the time came to give it to her, I pretended it was a weapon. Made her laugh, at least. Maker, I loved it when she laughed. I’d give anything to hear it again.”

“I only got to hear her laugh once,” Cullen said, staring into his wineglass. “At that blood mage, Jowan. What a moron he was.” Vira thought he might say something else, but he just drained his glass.

“I’m sorry.” Alistair said. “I forget sometimes that you knew her, too.”

“As much as a Templar could know a mage. Which is barely at all. Did she ever tell you I was the one who would’ve had to cut her down, had she failed her Harrowing?”

Vira flinched. “Could you have done it? I know you had feelings for her.”

Alistair rolled around to look at him. “What?”

“Oh, shit,” Vira swore. “I... I thought he knew.”

Alistair stared hard at Cullen. “I knew you... _wanted_ her, but, well, anyone would; she was stunning. But I didn’t know you were in _love_ with her. You rather kept that a secret,” Alistair said. He sounded bitter.

“Well what good would it have done, to tell you?” Cullen said, his voice rising.  “And it wasn’t just --” He bit the words off, mid-sentence, taking a breath to steady himself. He looked at Vira. There was guilt in that look, and a question, a plea. Suddenly she knew what he was going to say. _He loves Alistair. He loves us both._

She felt strangely hollow. Not the type of emptiness that accompanies despair, but a kind of lightness. She was suddenly reminded of a trick she’d learned as a child, pressing her hands against the inside of a door frame as hard as she could, so that when she stepped out, her arms felt as if they were going to float away. That same sense of floating swept through her now as the weight of anxiety dissolved. Whatever burgeoning feelings she might have for Alistair, Cullen had already experienced a hundredfold, maybe more. Suddenly everything seemed possible.

Vira sucked in a deep breath. She nodded. “It’s alright, ma vhenan.”

He blinked rapidly, his eyes shining. “Ma emma lath, ma vhenan’ara, ma sulahn’nehn theneras. Nothing will change that.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Ar lath ma, Cullen.”

Alistair was looking back and forth between them, confused.

Cullen set his shoulders and looked at Alistair. “It wasn’t just Solona I had feelings for. She was... my second love.”

Vira held her breath, her eyes darting between the two men.

“Oh. Er, I... I see,” Alistair said, relaxing his posture. He sighed, sadly. “I... didn’t know.”

“Maker’s breath, it was all I could do to keep from screaming it after you, that day that Duncan led you away.” Cullen shook his head.

“It’s probably good you didn’t. I might’ve run back, never become a Warden, had I known.” Alistair admitted.

“What?” Cullen's head snapped up. “I thought you didn’t... not _that_ way.”

Alistair shrugged. “I thought _you_ didn’t.”

They stared at each other. Vira blinked back tears. She watched as the distance between them collapsed into a kiss, the gravity now too strong to resist. Vira had seen Cullen kiss Dorian, of course. The Commander and the mage kissed like they played chess: a competition to derive the most lust in the other. That sight had in no way prepared her for what she was looking at now.

This was sweet and sad and hopeful. Their lips tasted each other gently, slowly. Vira felt like she was witnessing their first kiss. Perhaps in a way, she was. Cullen brought a visibly trembling hand up to cradle Alistair’s cheek. Alistair’s eyes were closed tightly, as if in pain or anguish. Cullen's lips moved along Alistair’s cheek to his ear. He murmured something, low enough that not even Vira could hear it. Alistair gasped and nodded, his eyes still closed. “Yes,” he said. “Always. Yes.” He brought a hand up to the back of Cullen's neck, pulling him close. They held each other tightly.

Vira let the pooling tears trickle down her cheeks. She was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid to break the spell. Their embrace was beautiful and heartbreaking in equal measure. They fell into another kiss.

This one rapidly became something more. Something hungry. Vira gradually became aware that the breathy sounds coming from Alistair’s lips were not just exhalations. They were words. Two words, repeated over and over and over, into Cullen's mouth, his ear, his hair, his skin.

“Take me.”

Cullen groaned. He rolled them both over, pinning Alistair beneath him. The redhead drew his legs around the Commander, the motion graceful and familiar.

“Are you sure?” Cullen asked. “Is this what you want?” He rolled his hips.

Alistair nodded eagerly. With a smile, Cullen smoothed the hair from his forehead. Rising, the Commander reached a hand down, hoisting Alistair to his feet. They made their way to the bed, shedding clothes as they went.

Vira felt as if she’d been riveted to her chair. Indecision paralyzed her; the desire to participate was precisely balanced with wanting to avoid interference with a love story ten years in the making. She bit her lip, twisting her hands in her lap.

“Vira?”

Her head snapped up. Cullen and Alistair were looking at her expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to join us, love?” Cullen asked, holding out his hand.

Her mouth fell open. “Are you... are you sure?”

Cullen looked at Alistair in amusement; the King smiled. “Quite sure.”

She scrambled to the bed, a bit giddy.

“You’re overdressed, though,” Cullen tut-tutted. “And perhaps you’d like to have a taste before we begin?”

Her robe and smallclothes were discarded before he even finished the sentence.

Cullen was kneeling between Alistair’s legs. His cock was not quite fully erect, bobbing heavily between his thighs. Vira fell to hands and knees, looking up at him expectantly.

“Ah, that's it,” he smiled, guiding himself past her lips. “That’s it.”

Vira paused for an instant, holding him on her tongue, waiting to see if he was going to guide her motions. When he didn’t, she swallowed as much of him as she could, twisting her hand at the root, feeling him grow stiff against her tongue.

“Oh sweet Maker,” she heard Alistair say.

“Mmm, I think Alistair would like to see what you can do with that mouth.” Cullen said, pulling away slightly.

Vira rounded on Alistair. His breath was heavy, low and slow through his lips. Vira leaned down and slowly dragged her tongue in a lazy swipe, watching his reaction.

He cried out, bucking his hips. She lapped at him with the flat of her tongue, before twirling around his crown, her fist pumping slow and steady. His breath came in gasps. Vira felt his balls begin to tighten against his body and pulled away.

“Oh, no, keep going,” Cullen urged. “Can you still go more than once, good boy?” he asked, stroking a finger along the man’s collarbone.

“Yes,” Alistair spat the word through gritted teeth.

The moan that broke from Vira's throat when she realized she didn't have to hold back was positively obscene. She spared no quarter, swallowing him down until he pressed the back of her throat, cradling his balls for an instant before sliding a finger along his perineum. He groaned, an animal sound, clutching at the sheets.

Vira wrapped her thumb and forefinger tightly around the base, then settled into a teasing rhythm. She held him there, at the edge, as Cullen rolled off the bed and rifled through the nightstand for a vial of oil. Without removing her hand, Vira moved to lay between Alistair’s legs. She raised her eyes to watch him as she continued her torment.

There was lust there, but laughter too, his eyes riveted to hers. “Maker, that's so _good,”_ he moaned, throwing his head back for an instant.

Cullen slid the nightstand drawer shut and turned. “Vira, are you teasing my good boy? That's not very nice of you,” he chided.

“It’s - ah! - not nice at all,” Alistair gasped, a smile playing on the corner of his lips.

Vira gave a throaty chuckle around his cock and was rewarded with a keening warble. By now Alistair had raised up to lean on his elbows, to better watch her.

“Vira, you’re not being a very good girl,” Cullen said. He smoothed a hand over her ass.

Vira had about a second to get ready for the smack; she was already moaning in anticipation when it landed, a sharp sound in the quiet room.

“Oh _Maker,”_ Alistair said, his eyes wide. He shuddered under her hands.

Cullen smoothed his palm over the pink skin. “Hmm, she’s still doing it. Maybe she didn’t get the message.”

Another smack. Another moan. Another teasing suck.

They fell into a pace, slow enough to be maddening. Vira could feel her ass getting hot -- her skin must be quite rosy by now.

“She certainly seems to be enjoying the spanking. Perhaps she’s waiting to hear you beg, good boy,” Cullen purred.

Alistair did not need to be asked twice. “Please, please, Vira, let me come, oh Maker - ah! - I can’t stand it, please, I’m so close.”

“I’m not going to stop until he comes, Vira,” Cullen cooed. He increased the tempo, not allowing her to recover in between smacks. Vira’s hips were grinding into the bed, then arching into his hand.

Vira knew her limits, as did Cullen. When her body recoiled from a particularly sharp blow, she left off sucking, gasped as if she’d been underwater, and Cullen stopped. She licked at Alistair gently, giving him a chance to take a step back from the edge before the final leap. Vira fumbled with her free hand, pulling one of Alistair’s wrists towards her clumsily, moaning a laugh in frustration.

Cullen laughed as well. “Put your hands on her head, Alistair. She wants you to fuck her mouth.”

Wincing, the king did as he was told, gently laying his hands on her head. She drew him into her mouth, just holding him there. And then she let go of his cock.

He shouted, his fingers digging into her hair, as his hips bucked hard, fast. He was grunting with each thrust, almost sobbing. Vira tasted the first pulses of bitter fluid, her tongue dragging along the twitching glans. He was rutting too fast for it to be neat. She swallowed as much as she could, but it seemed endless, smearing her chin and his body. The thrusts gradually became shallower, until finally he lay shuddering underneath her, panting.

Vira felt as if she was flying apart at the seams. Between the encounter in the stairwell, and the interrupted attempt earlier in the evening, her body was thrumming. She lifted herself off Alistair and was unsurprised to find a wet spot where she’d been grinding the bed.

Cullen noticed it too, with a raised eyebrow. “Well now.”

Vira squirmed. The anticipation had her in an almost liminal state, floating. She was desperate for release, yet couldn’t bring herself to initiate any action that would bring her there. Whether there were too many options available or her mind had simply gone blank, the effect was the same.

The Commander smirked at her. “Poor thing. Look at you, in such a state. Perhaps Alistair can relieve you of some of that tension?”

Alistair groaned. “What... what should I....” The aftermath of Vira’s tongue had apparently rendered him speechless.

“Whatever you like, good boy,” Cullen said.

Alistair rolled over, resting a knee between Vira’s thighs. “So beautiful,” he whispered, the hint of a smile revealing itself as his fingers skated across her forehead, down the line of her jaw, then up her ears.

“Ahhhh,” Vira said, arching into his touch. Breathless, she smiled up at him and nodded.

His fingers resumed the caress from earlier in the day, teasing light strokes from lobe to tip. Inhibition now absent, Vira moaned as she hadn’t dared before, letting herself sink into the sensation. Her hips began to buck, rubbing against his thigh.

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen stared at them, transfixed.

Vira’s eyes flicked to his, taking in the shock and lust and something adjacent to jealousy. Perhaps envy was the best definition, that Alistair knew this secret about her body and Cullen did not.

Still, the Commander did not seem to begrudge Alistair the knowledge; Cullen's grin was wicked. Vira could almost see him filing away this tidbit for later. Before she could get too distracted by thoughts of what later could bring, Alistair dragged his fingernails lightly over her ears.

All thought dissolved. She uttered a wordless, shameless warble, her hips rocking, insistent. Her eyes locked with Alistair.

“Let me,” she heard Cullen say. Vira whined in frustration as Alistair’s thigh was shunted aside; the sound devolved into a satisfied moan as Cullen's skilled fingers took over. Two fingers sank into her, and a thumb teased the tight knot of flesh at the apex. The motion was practiced, exactly what she wanted.

Alistair whispered to her, watching her face. “Maker, you are so beautiful. Let me see you come.”

The best Vira could manage in response was an undignified _nngh;_ Cullen had eased up his touch, teasing her mercilessly, drawing it out. She felt like she was coming apart at the seams. Wave after wave seemed to wash through her. It was long, very long, as the summit somehow grew larger and further away. And then finally, _finally,_ the pleasure was surmounted. Her gasps of relief were swallowed by Alistair kissing her languidly, easing her down from the peak. Each time she shuddered from a spasm, he made a tiny, satisfied moan into her lips. And then the moans grew more insistent.

Vira realized that Cullen was behind him, his fingers pressing into the King. Soon Alistair was rocking back and forth, just a bit. He was still on hands and knees above Vira, breathing into the crook of her neck.

He hissed, arching his neck upwards; no doubt Cullen had added another finger, stretching him open. Vira watched as Alistair sank into the sensation, his eyes closed. She reached up and caressed his cheek.

He opened his eyes. They were heavy with lust. Vira decided she could watch him like this forever; he was gorgeous. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes tight, the breath whooshing through his lips. She found herself breathing along with him, swept up in his reaction. He choked, frozen for a second -- Cullen had probably added a third finger. “Breathe,” she said, nodding gently.

Alistair swallowed hard, gulping air. His limbs were shaking.

Cullen pulled himself away from the man and eased him down to lay on his back. He was hard again. “Have you done this?” Cullen asked, slicking himself up with oil, and Alistair as well.

Alistair hissed at the touch and nodded. “With Zevran,” he said.

Suddenly Vira understood Alistair’s expertise with elven ears.

“Are you ready?” Cullen asked. His voice was thick and low with need.

“Maker, yes, please,” Alistair said.

Vira held her breath as Cullen pushed the head of his cock into Alistair. Her eyes flew up to Alistair’s face, watching his expression as he yielded himself, seeing the lust and exultation in his eyes.

Cullen slowly thrust into the King, pausing often as the man’s body accommodated him. It felt like a lifetime until he was hilted. He stayed there for a long moment. “Such a good boy,” Cullen said, smoothing the sweat from Alistair’s forehead. “Look at me, Alistair,” Cullen's voice was no longer the lustful voice of command, but loving, reverent.

He began to roll his hips, gently, moving himself in and out of Alistair. “Yes,” he smiled, his breath hitching in his chest. “Ah, that's it. So good,” Cullen moaned, his eyes fluttering closed.

Alistair brought his hands up, running them up Cullen's biceps to his shoulders. Vira bit her lip. It was an incredibly intimate caress. It may have started out as an act of sheer lust, but the two men were now undeniably making love.

“Are you close?” Cullen groaned, gritting his teeth. “I want to fuck you harder. But I won’t have long.”

Alistair nodded quickly. “Yes,” he gasped. He brought his hand up, stroking himself in time to the movement of Cullen's thrusts.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” Cullen said, his hips jerking. Vira could tell he was holding back, straining on the edge.

“Maker, please, Cullen. I’ve been dreaming of this for so long. Please. Please just give it to me. I need it. Please. I want to feel you - _ngh_ \- I want to feel you come inside me, oh Maker, please, please. Hard, please, give it to me hard.”

Cullen slammed into him, drawing Alistair’s last word into a long moan. Vira watched as Alistair pulsed his release though his fingers. Cullen's breathy grunts coalesced into a groan, his hips thrusting hard once, twice, before holding still, the muscles in his ass twitching as he spurted into Alistair.  

Their bodies slumped into relaxation. Vira traced her hand over the back of Cullen's neck. Eventually Cullen clambered off of Alistair with a deep sigh.

“Well, that was....” Alistair cocked an eyebrow, trying to think of a way to end the thought.

With a laugh, Vira finished it for him. “In the words of our illustrious Tevinter mage, it was ‘a whole lot of something’.”

“That works,” Alistair said.

Vira curled up against him. “Is it terrible that I just want to go to sleep, and it’s not even sunset?”

Cullen planted a kiss on her forehead. “Mildly terrible, yes.”

“I’m just so comfortable,” she protested.

“Well we can’t all cloister ourselves in here.” Cullen shrugged on his tunic. “Varric’ll never be able to keep up with the rumors.”

“Oh, shit, _Varric,”_ Vira said, bolting upright. “He was trying to tell me something earlier. Damn. It might be important. I’d better go find him.”

“Now?” Cullen seemed skeptical.

“I won’t sleep otherwise. And besides, I missed the last few games of Wicked Grace. I owe him.” Vira said.

“If you play Wicked Grace anything like how you play chess, I’m sure _he_ owes _you,”_ Alistair said.

“Well, you’re about to find out,” Vira said.

Alistair blinked. “What?”

“Oh, you’re coming along. I’m not going to allow you to sit in your room alone, not when we could be together. You’re only here a few more days,” Vira said. “I intend to wring every possible minute out of them.”

“Is she always like this?” Alistair asked Cullen, pointing at Vira.

“Frequently,” Cullen nodded.

“Are you coming?” Alistair said, picking up his shirt and pulling his arms through the sleeves.

Cullen narrowed his eyes. “I’ll... join you a bit later,” he finally said. “Some things I need to take care of first.”

“Cullen doesn’t have such great luck at Wicked Grace,” Vira smirked. “Gave us quite an eyeful, last time.” She winked.

“Josie _cheated,”_ he growled.

“Awww, there there,” Vira said, patting his cheek. “At least she gave you your clothes back. Eventually.”

“I am _definitely_ running away to the Inquisition,” Alistair said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read Dread Wolf's Legacy, the part about Vira and the wolves probably won't make much sense, sorry. Just, consider it headcanon handwavery? Or, just ignore it.
> 
> Ma emma lath, ma vhenan’ara, ma sulahn’nehn theneras. = You are my love, my heart, my dream of joy.


	9. Faith and Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of Wicked Grace stalls, so the festivities move to the Herald's Rest.

“Freckles! What a pleasant surprise,” Varric said, waving Alistair over. “Did you get bullied into a few rounds by the Inquisitor? She must be short on coin.” The dwarf sat around a table with the Iron Bull and Dorian. The blond spirit boy sat in the corner, twirling a coin across his knuckles. Cole showed no sign that he’d interrupted a very intimate moment earlier in the day. 

Vira laughed. “Varric, if I was short on coin I’d pick his pocket.” She crooked a finger, beckoning the dwarf to the side of the room for a hushed conversation.

Alistair took a seat at the table next to Dorian. The mage winked at him. “Glad you could join us. Cullen not coming, then?”

“I think he’s got work to do,” Alistair said vaguely. 

“Hope you’re a better card player than he is,” Bull rumbled.

“I don’t,” Dorian said. 

From the corner, Vira reared back from the dwarf in surprise. “Zevran? Are you sure?” Her eyes flicked to meet Alistair’s briefly, and she resumed murmuring to Varric. 

“You guys playing or what?” Bull called out to them.

After a few more seconds of conversation, Vira nodded and headed back to the table. “You know, I  _ am  _ still your boss, Bull,” Vira said, pulling out a chair. 

“I’m off the clock,” he said calmly, flicking the cards in a circle.

Alistair fanned the cards in his hand, organizing them by suit. “Any house rules I should know about?” 

“Nope,” Bull said. “Straight up.”

Varric laughed to himself. “I used to play with Isabela all the time, in Kirkwall. Whenever I caught her cheating, which was all the time, she’d claim that it was Riviani rules.”

“Don’t I know it,” Alistair said, staring down at his cards. “Terrible cheat, that woman.”

The king was so intent on his hand that he didn’t notice the surprised glances around the table. 

“Are we talking about the same Isabela?” Varric asked.

Alistair looked up. “I should hope there’s not more than one deadly pirate card-shark roaming around.”

“She never mentioned she knew you,” Varric said.

“I met her when I was traveling with Solona. We tried to get Isabela to teach us how to duel. She wouldn’t do it unless Solona could beat her at cards. Then she tried to....” Alistair realized what he’d been about to say. Probably not the time to talk about being too embarrassed to spend the night with Solona and Isabela. He still regretted that decision. “Ah... yes. I met her then,” Alistair said, blushing. “And we visit. When she’s in Denerim.” He cleared his throat and trained his attention back on his cards. “Whose bet is it, again?”

His attempt at redirecting the conversation was for naught. Varric slapped him on the arm. “Isabela comes to the  _ palace? _ You sly dog!”

“Who is this woman, exactly?” Vira said before Alistair could protest, looking between the dwarf and the king.

“She’s the self-titled Pirate Queen of the Eastern Seas,” Varric said. “Deadly with her blades,  _ very  _ free with her affection, and stunningly gorgeous. Ah, I had such a crush on her.”

By now Vira had fixed a surprised stare at Alistair, one eyebrow raised suggestively. Dammit. Whatever was going on between he and Vira and Cullen, it was still extremely new. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he chased every skirt that came within reach. Hell, he hadn’t seen Isabela in over a year. Alistair screwed his eyes shut, willing Varric to shut up. Apparently he wasn’t telepathic, as the onslaught continued. 

“She used to wear this skimpy little tunic, and not much else. No idea how she kept her breasts from falling out. Hawke said she was absolutely phenomenal. Come to think of it, Fenris did too. Not really the type to stroll up to the palace gates though. You two must be  very  close, for her to do that.” Varric finally looked up. 

Vira was staring at Alistair, her head tilted to the side, arms crossed in front of her chest. Bull and Dorian were both grinning, staring at the king as well. Alistair knew his face must be crimson. That or the temperature in the room had shot up twenty degrees.

“I see I’ve stepped in something,” Varric said. 

Alistair cleared his throat. “I believe it’s my bet. Two silver. And she doesn’t come to the palace.” He looked at Vira. “We’re not  _ that  _ close. I... drop by her lodgings. When she’s in town.” Alistair said. “Which is not often.”

“You? Go to the Pearl?” Varric’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

“It’s a free country,” Alistair said defensively. “A man can have a drink and a chat with an old friend. I’m pretty sure there’s no laws against it.”

“You would know,” Dorian said under his breath, tossing a few coins into the pot.

“Well,” Vira smirked. “I’ll have to meet this woman. She sounds just my type. Good enough for Hawke, is good enough for me.” She winked at Alistair.

“Ah, Garrett. How I miss him,” Dorian said. “Has anyone heard from him recently?”

Alistair wanted to kiss the mage for changing the subject so flawlessly. He snuck a guilty glance at Vira. She seemed more bemused than anything and flashed him a smile. Maker, but she was beautiful. He felt a pang of warmth in his chest. 

The bet was called. To Alistair’s surprise, he’d won the hand with a pair of queens. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re as good at cards as you are at chess,” Dorian groaned.

“No, I think I’m just lucky,” Alistair said, sneaking another quick glance at Vira. She caught the meaning and looked down at her cards, still smiling.

“Heart as big as the heavens, weightless and floating, love like a cloudless sunset, what did I do to deserve them both?” Cole said, his eyes following the coin dancing in his hand.

“Cole!” Vira and Alistair both snapped. 

The silence that fell was impossibly heavy. Vira pinched the bridge of her nose, while Alistair leaned back in his chair, looking up to the ceiling.

At that moment, Cullen walked in, his step jaunty. “Not too late... I... hope?” He stopped short as everyone but Alistair and Vira stared at him. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry. I tried to be quiet, but, it was so loud, with you both shouting it.” Cole cringed. “And you too,” he said, fixing an unblinking gaze on Cullen. “It’s all I can hear.”

“Oh, Maker’s breath,” Cullen sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck. The silence returned, thick as fog.

“Well,” Dorian said briskly, slapping down his cards. “Herald’s Rest, anyone? I’m suddenly very thirsty.” 

Bull and Varric practically leapt to their feet, jabbering in agreement. As they filed out, Alistair plucked at Vira’s elbow. “Ah, this is going to sound terrible, I know they’re your friends, but --”

“I’ll try to keep a lid on it,” Vira said. “I know you don’t need this kind of rumor following you home.” She smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. 

Damn. She deserved to not have to pretend. So did Cullen. It certainly wasn’t the first time Alistair resented his throne, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. 

Still, things cheered up once they got to the tavern. It was busy, though not yet rowdy. The elf Sera was there, aiming an arrow at an apple. The fruit happened to be perched on the head of a grinning, freckled dwarf woman in a scout uniform, who seemed completely nonplussed staring down the weapon. The arrow thudded into the wall, splitting the apple exactly in half. The dwarf laughed and handed one half to Sera, taking a bite of the other. 

Alistair eased into the chaos and clamor, leaning against the bar. He wasn’t a particularly outgoing individual, but the crowd afforded him an opportunity to fade from view while still enjoying the company of others. Such chances were exceedingly rare at the palace. Between that and the beer, the evening was not a complete loss. 

Not that it ever would have been. His thoughts kept sneaking back to Cullen moving inside him, or Vira’s teasing mouth, or the words that Cullen had whispered into his ear:  _ I never stopped loving you. Not for a minute. _

Suddenly he realized Vira was talking to him. “So, did you hear the Calling? The false one, I mean.”

He blinked, trying to drag his mind back to the present. “What? Oh, yes. I did. Rather unpleasant, I must say.”

Vira nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of her ale. She leaned casually, resting an elbow on the back of the bar as she surveyed the tavern, looking for all the world as if they were merely gossiping. “Did that... affect things for you?”

“Made it difficult to concentrate, if that's what you mean,” he said quietly. Maker, did the woman never stop thinking about politics? 

She drained her mug, signalling to the bar keep for another. After it was procured, she spoke. “What are you going to do? When it... happens for real, I mean?” 

“Assuming that Anora bears a healthy child, I’ll step down. That's the plan, anyway.” He sighed. “I’ve got another decade or so, most likely. Maybe a bit more, if I’m lucky.”

Vira nodded again, not looking at him. It wasn’t until she raised her tankard that he noticed her hand was shaking. 

“Are you alright?” He looked at her closely. 

Her eyes were a bit shinier than normal, and she was working her lips back and forth, possibly to mask the quiver. Alistair realized with a shock that it wasn’t politics on her mind, it was  _ him. _

He’d had over a decade to come to terms with his future. Vira had not. The fact that it was even remotely upsetting for her to think about made him dizzy. No one had ever been in a position to anticipate his loss, at least not from an emotional perspective. He sank to a barstool. 

“Maker’s breath. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean --”

“No no,” she interrupted with a wave and a unconvincing grin. “I brought it up.”

Bull strode up, coming to stand between them. “Cabot!” he called. “I’ll take another.” He waved his tankard.

Alistair wanted to throttle the Qunari. Why couldn’t he go invade someone else’s personal space?

Bull tilted his head. “You guys look like your dog just died. People are starting to wonder what’s going on,” he said in a low, almost apologetic voice. “Thought I’d come see what’s up.”

The King blinked. “Oh, er, nothing,” he dissembled, taking a swift gulp of ale.

Bull snorted. “Vira, you getting a headache?” He wasn’t shouting, but his voice carried. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks Bull,” Vira said, her voice sour. She drew a hand across her forehead. “You’re right, though. I should go lay down, I think. Been a long day.” 

Alistair fought the urge to leap from his barstool as she made her way to Cullen. He watched as she kissed his forehead, murmuring a few words into his ear and nodding towards the door. She left, not looking back at Alistair at all.

The king swallowed hard. Bull clapped a hand on his shoulder, then leaned down, talking in a low voice. “You must have a better game face than that, your majesty.”

He glared at Bull, but relaxed his expression into a blank mask. 

“That’s the stuff,” Bull smirked. “It’s too late to stop the rumors altogether. Too many people have noticed something’s up. But it’s still plausibly deniable.”

“Andraste’s tits,” Alistair swore. “They deserve better.”

“Of course they do. But, and I’m going out on a limb here, they think you’re worth it. So. Something is better than nothing, right?”

“Is it?”

Bull laughed, a short, barking sound. “Trust me. It is. It’ll come back to you. It’s been a while.” 

Alistair exhaled. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Good.” Bull took a deep drink. “Shame you’re only here a bit longer. I’m an excellent distraction, you know.” 

The king spluttered his ale all down his shirt as the Bull roared with laughter. 

***

Cullen was surprised when Vira whispered in his ear that she was going to bed. They’d just arrived at the tavern, after all; she’d only had one mug of ale. Still, if she wasn’t feeling well _...._

Sera flung herself into a stool next to him as Vira walked out. “Where’s the Quizzie goin’, then?”

“Headache,” Cullen said. “She’s going to lie down.”

“Hrm,” Sera said, skeptically. She looked over at Dorian. “Righ’ then. You want an apple? Lace’ll cut one for you.” She slung an arm around the now-blushing dwarf.

“All set, thanks,” Dorian smiled. He raised his wine glass at them, before draining it. “Still. I’m a might tired, myself. Now that my thirst is quenched, I might just go find a book and take to my bed.”

“You hear that? His  _ thirst _ is  _ quenched _ _,”_ Sera snorted. She jostled Lace with her elbow. “Somehow I doubt it.”

The scout snickered into her mug. 

Cullen smiled. He’d only gotten to know Scout Harding since Sera had taken up with her, but he’d read her name in countless reports. She’d been absolutely invaluable when it came to establishing a foothold for the Inquisition. Still, she refused all promotions, insisting that she only wanted to be a scout, nothing more. Cullen had nonetheless pulled a few strings, getting her an upgrade to private quarters, longer leave periods at Skyhold, better armor. She even participated in some sessions in the war room; her down-to-earth take on field conditions had proved crucial on more than one occasion. And most important, she always warned Cullen when Sera had pulled a prank on him.

“Ooh, Bull finding a new rider, then?” Sera said, peering over Cullen's shoulder.

He turned. Bull was, indeed, murmuring into Alistair’s ear. The redhead looked upset, then his face smoothed out, nodding at something Bull said.

Cullen shrugged, trying to look casual. “You never know, Sera. Maybe he’s got a thing for horns.”

“Well I know he’s got a thing for your Quizzie,” Sera said, slapping him with the back of her hand. “You sharin’?” 

Cullen choked on his beer. “I beg your pardon?” 

“I think he is,” Sera said in a stage whisper to Lace, looking over her shoulder at the dwarf with a broad wink.

Cullen lobbed a brief, panicked look at the scout, along with an infinitesimal shake of his head.

Lace blinked, then smiled at the elf. “Aw, c’mon, Sera. Everyone had a crush on the Inquisitor at some point. Didn’t you?”

“Yeah, ‘s true,” Sera said. “Then I met you, though,” she grinned, yanking Lace in for a kiss.

Cullen took a deep breath and let it out. He chanced another look at Alistair. Bull was still speaking to him, his huge hand on the man’s shoulder. Something was wrong.

“You know what? I’ll take an apple,” Cullen said. “Maybe the first time was a fluke.”

“Fluke? I’ll show you a fluke,” Sera scoffed. “C’mon, luv.” She pulled the dwarf up by the elbow. 

Cullen watched as the crowd in the tavern turned their attention back to the elf and her diminutive assistant. Alistair took advantage of the distraction to slip out. Bull looked at Cullen, then jerked his head towards the door, ever so slightly. Cullen nodded into his mug, draining it. As Sera nocked her arrow, he slipped out into the night, following the king.

“Sire,” Cullen called out. “Hold a moment, if you would.” He jogged up to the man. “Are you alright?” the Commander asked in a low voice.

Alistair allowed his eyes to fall shut as he inhaled deeply. “What have we gotten ourselves into?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” Cullen admitted. “But I don’t regret it. Do you?” 

“No,” Alistair said at once. “Never.” 

“Can you find your way to your quarters, your majesty? I can accompany you, if you like,” Cullen said in a normal tone of voice.

“I’d appreciate that, Commander.” Alistair nodded formally. 

Cullen lead him to a little-used doorway off the courtyard. Once they were safely enclosed by stone walls, Cullen paused. “Will you stay with us, tonight? You don’t have to.” 

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair said. “Do you know, my biggest regret from when I was young are those nights when I slipped away from your bed? I was too afraid of how painful it would be to see you wake up,” Alistair whispered.

Cullen huffed a laugh. “I thought you just didn’t want to be that close to me.”

“Really? We were such fools.” Alistair shook his head.

“The world needed us,” Cullen said. “Who knows if we’d have been able to answer the Maker’s call if things had been different. Maybe this is our reward.”

“Such faith,” Alistair breathed. “You shame me, Cullen Rutherford.” 

“How could I not believe, now that you’re here? Now that I’m at your side, once more?” Cullen marveled. “Are you still afraid?”

“No,” Alistair said. “Not anymore. And never again.”

 


	10. Tangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past is never really very far away, and the future is approaching way too fast for any of them.

They awoke in a tangle of limbs. Vira’s eyes were the first to open. She was sandwiched between the two men -- Cullen slept on his stomach, facing her, his arm slung over her waist. Alistair curled around her back, clutching both Vira and Cullen in his embrace. It was possible that she’d never felt so safe, so comfortable.

The limits of that comfort were soon breached, however, when she realized she desperately needed to relieve herself. Biting back elvish curses, she extracted herself from the bed.

After she’d taken care of things, she attempted to return, only to find that they’d closed the distance between them. They held each other close, Cullen's face buried in the crook of Alistair’s neck. It was unbelievably romantic. Vira spent a long moment, just drinking in the sight of them. She kept waiting for the sinking sensation of jealousy to land, but it never arrived.  


Vira sighed. Well, the sun was up. Might as well start the day.

She’d made tea and gotten dressed by the time Alistair peeked an eye open. He looked over at her with a lazy, satisfied squint. The look sent a frisson of excitement down her spine. When they came to her chamber last night, she’d already undressed and fallen asleep. They were all tired; sleep was clearly what they needed. Yet somehow, once they were all ensconced together, skin swept against skin, breath against breath, and before long they were braided together, moaning and arching and touching.   


“Morning, your majesty,” she said quietly.

“Morning, your worship,” he replied, wiping the sleep from his eyes. 

Vira wondered how long it’d been since the last time he’d awoken alongside an affectionate body. Probably too long. “Tea?” she said, holding up the pot.

Alistair smiled, a sleepy hitch of his lips. “That sounds lovely.” He planted a kiss on Cullen's temple. The Commander squirmed into his pillow with a desultory groan. 

Vira poured the tea and walked out to the balcony, inviting the king to follow. “How did you sleep?” She sat at the small table, setting down her cup.

“Best sleep in a decade, at least,” he grinned. 

“Glad to hear it,” Vira said, sipping her tea. She looked over the mountains. “I’m sorry for becoming upset last night. Everything is no new. I usually have better control over myself,” she explained.

When he didn’t answer, she turned. His smile was soft and gentle. “You’re the first person in a ten years to care what happens to me. Please don’t apologize.” He took hold of her hand across the table, brushing her knuckles with his thumb.

Cullen appeared at the doorway, yawning and scratching his head. Vira flinched involuntarily, almost pulling her hand away. When she realized she didn’t have to, she laughed. “Is this the most ridiculous thing, or is it just me?”

“I’d say it’s moderately ridiculous, yes. Still a notch lower than Bull and Dorian, though.” Cullen said. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then repeated the gesture with Alistair. “I’m starving. Shall we make our way to the dining hall?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Vira said, rising. “I’ll take Freckles through the basement, and you can go out the front. I’ll circle around and catch up with you. Save me a scone,” she grinned.

Cullen sighed in frustration. “Do we really have to hide like this? I don’t sneak out of Dorian’s chambers.”

Alistair nodded, his face glum. “It’s necessary, I’m afraid. Close ties are one thing. This is  _ too _ close. People will say I’m being influenced by the Inquisition. The backlash would weaken my position. And it would humiliate Anora. Celene would love nothing more than to have us at each other’s throats.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Cullen admitted. “Damn. I just....” His shoulders slumped.

Alistair stood up. “I know. Still. It’s more than I ever thought possible. Nothing like a decade of loneliness to give you some perspective.” His voice was light. 

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Vira smiled. “I think one ostracized childhood was enough for me. Come on, let’s go, before I get to be sad on top of hungry.”

“Oh, but ‘sad and hungry’ is a great look for me,” Alistair said. “Really brings out my eyes.”

Vira laughed in confusion. “Is he always like this?” she asked Cullen.

“Yes.” Cullen said, shaking his head. “He is.”

***

Alistair consulted a sheaf of notes, before peering down at the enormous map on the war table. “We just don’t have a lot of people down there, I’m afraid. These reports are vague at best. Let’s see... one day’s ride, northeast of the ruins of Ostagar. And... this one says ‘at the old Elm forest, half-a-day’s walk south of South Reach.” After yesterday’s war council, Alistair had been asked to provide details concerning the location of rifts for the Inquisitor to close. 

Vira smoothed her hand over the map, placing markers. “That’s good enough to start. Scout Harding’s got a nose for rifts. She’ll find the rest.” 

The King tried not to be distracted by the way Vira was folded at the waist, bent over the table to reach for map markers. Maker, all he wanted to do was pin her there, sink himself into her over and over until they were both moaning and sweating and...

“Alistair?” Vira’s voice cut into his reverie. She was looking at him over her shoulder. When he roused himself, dragging his line of sight away from her ass to her face, she gave him a wicked grin. “Distracted, are we?”

“Maker, yes,” he laughed, coming up to stand behind her as she straightened up. “How does Cullen get any work done?”

Vira gave a throaty laugh. “It wasn’t an issue, until he had his way with me on the table,” she said. “After that, he kept losing his train of thought in council. Leliana would get so frustrated. It was hilarious.”

Alistair groaned, imagining the sight of Cullen taking Vira on the slab of wood. “No, don’t tell me that,” he chided her. “I already had one naughty scene in my head. Now I’ve got two.” He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He felt her lean back against him and his groan of laughter became one of lust. Dropping his hands from his eyes, he looked down to see her smiling up at him. “You don’t want to hear about the Commander teasing me mercilessly, late at night, until I trembled?” 

Alistair’s knees buckled as he hissed in a breath. He could already feel himself getting hard, the stiffening flesh pushing against the small of Vira’s back. 

She arched into him. “It was quite a night,” she continued, her voice now breathy. “Are you sure you wouldn’t enjoy the story?”

“Oh, sweet Maker,” Alistair gulped air. “Tell me.”

“I thought you might like to hear it,” Vira smirked. “He sat me on the table and kissed me until I was dizzy. I’m sure you know what that feels like. The way he teases with his tongue and teeth until you’re moaning for it, and he still leaves you waiting? And then he finally claims your mouth, and it’s all you can do to breathe?”

Alistair’s eyes fluttered shut. He knew it well. His dreams had been haunted by that kiss for far too long.

“By that point I was begging for him to take me. I needed it soooo badly. But of course the Commander took his time.” Vira rocked back into Alistair.

“What did he do?” the King whispered. 

“Mmm, he pinched my nipples through my tunic. Hard, the way I like it. And he pulled me to the edge of the table and rubbed me till I was sopping wet, soaked through my smalls and trousers.”

With a moan, Alistair fell forward, grasping the edge of the table on either side of Vira, trapping her body. She leaned forward, pressing the curve of her ass against his now-straining cock. He began to rut against her.

“Did he - did he -” Alistair panted.

“Did he take me? Yes, finally. He bent me over, just like this. Pushed me down so I couldn’t move at all. Yanked my trousers down to my ankles. And then he slammed into me. Ahh, it was so rough,” she gasped. “I like it that way. Feeling him lose all control.... fuck, it was so  _ good.” _

Alistair wrenched his eyes open and forced his hips to still. “I’m about to lose control, myself. I need to stop. Someone might catch us.” Much as he wanted to re-enact the scene Vira was describing, the risk that someone could walk in was too great. This was the war room in the middle of the day, not some dusty staircase.

A disappointed whimper escaped her lips, but she also stopped moving. With a deep breath, he stepped away from her.

Trembling slightly, she began to speak. “There’s a --”

The thought went unfinished at the knock on the door, which began to open without hesitation. Alistair quickly unfolded a large map in front of himself to hide his rather obvious erection.

A dwarf with auburn hair peeked around the corner. She looked vaguely familiar. “Not interrupting, am I?” 

“Hello Dagna,” Vira said. “What can I do for you?”

“Dagna?” Alistair said in surprise. “From Orzammar?”

“Hey, it’s the Warden!” she chirped. “I guess you’re King now, though. How are you? Can I get a sample of your blood? I’m studying the taint and I want to see what happens when you mix  Warden blood with Qunari blood.”

As Alistair spluttered, Vira laughed. “One thing at a time, Dagna. What did you need?”

“Oh! Right. So. I’ve been doing some research with Dorian. On Eluvians. And I found something you might want to see.” The dwarf pulled a bench up to the table and clambered up to stand on it. She unfurled a large piece of translucent parchment. 

“Okay, so. These are the locations of known Eluvians, right?” The dwarf pointed to a series of red dots on the map. “Here, the Temple of Mythal, the broken one at the Temple of Dirthamen, Halamshiral.”

“There’s an Eluvian at the winter palace?” Alistair said. “Really?”

“Welllll, we don’t know for sure, but Dorian said it was a good enough guess. Anyway,” Dagna said. All these are important elven ruins, right? So. Here’s the thing. If we overlay these points, a pattern emerges.” She unrolled a second piece of parchment and overlaid it. It was inscribed with an intricate pattern of radial lines.

“That’s pretty, but I’m not sure I understand,” Vira said.

“Well, our hypothesis is that at the places where the lines converge, there’s probably a ruin that contains an Eluvian. Or used to.” Dagna said.

Alistair had recovered enough to lower his map and peer at the table. “Duncan mentioned an Eluvian,” he said. “Apparently it transferred the taint. A couple of Dalish got caught in it. One disappeared, and Duncan tried to save the other by making her a Warden. She... didn’t survive the joining.” 

“Where was it?” Vira said.

“Here in the Brecilian forest. There’s a very big ruin there. Used to be crawling with werewolves.” Alistair pointed at a spot at the map where several of Dagna’s lines converged.

“What happened to the Eluvian?” Vira frowned in concern, biting her cheek.

“Destroyed, or so Duncan said. I have no reason to doubt him.” Alistair explained.

“Well. Thank you Dagna. We should probably search these areas. We don’t want some over-zealous follower of Corypheus taking it on himself to follow in his footsteps. Excellent work.” 

Dagna practically glowed, quivering with happiness at Vira’s praise. Alistair realized her people were truly devoted to her. It was easy to see why; she was a born leader. Once again, he was reminded of Solona. He hadn’t thought about her this much in years. It was surprising how much it still hurt. His thoughts were far away when Vira dismissed the dwarf and asked him a question.

“What was that?” he blinked. 

She laughed. “I was going to see if you wanted to pick up where we left off, but I see the moment has passed.”

“Maker’s breath, I’m sorry. I was... just remembering some things,” he said. He could sense the furrow in his brow; he tried to smooth it out with a smile. From the skeptical look on Vira’s face, he hadn’t done a very good job.

“Look, Alistair, we don’t have to... if you’d be more comfortable with just Cullen, I’d understand.” Vira said. 

“Maker, no, that's not... aargh,” he groaned, swiping his hand through his hair. 

She laughed and began to turn away, apparently willing to let it drop. The laugh, however, did not ring true. He’d hurt her feelings.

Alistair grabbed her arm. “Wait. I... I want to explain.”

“All right,” she said. He could feel the tension in her arm, as if she was bracing herself for something bad -- a form of rejection, perhaps. It tore at him. Without thinking, he kissed her.

He poured his heart into that kiss, shaping it with the warmth and fledgling affection he felt. Not love, not yet, but it could be; just as a newborn colt cannot walk, yet the same knock-kneed stumbling legs would one day run and run and run. 

When he pulled away, she had tears in her eyes. “Blast,” he swore. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

“You didn’t, it’s... it doesn’t matter. What were you going to say?”

He sighed, letting his eyes fall shut. “I literally never thought it was possible for me to feel this way again. But it’s all tangled up, you see. I... how do I put this? When Solona died, the pain was unimaginable. I thought I would die. I _wanted_ to die. Everyone told me it would get easier, but it didn’t. At least, not that I could tell. I didn’t know what to do and after a few months things had spiraled out of control. So I just pushed it all to the side, you know? Locked it away,  _ all _ of it. And now that box is open again, and I feel like I’m living for the first time in ten years. But... all the grief is in there, too. And I wish by all that's holy and good that I’d gotten past it, because now I finally have someone to give myself to, and it’s all tangled up. And you deserve more than a rose bush that's growing up inside of a skeleton.”

Alistair chanced a look at Vira. Tears were tracing down her cheeks. She was looking down at her feet. “I think I understand,” she said, her voice thick. She sniffled.

He handed her a handkerchief. She thanked him, then blew her nose. It was an ungainly, honking sound that rang through the room. He started to laugh. “Do you have a goose hiding in there, somewhere?”

“Shut it, you,” she laughed, pocketing the cloth. “Come on. We might as well get down to the courtyard. Dorian’s giving lessons today. You’re going to want to see it.” 

“Lessons? In what? Moustache waxing? Sass? Unnecessary buckles?” 

Vira laughed. “Oh, just you wait.”

***

Cullen leaned against the shaded wall of the courtyard, chatting idly with Bull. The Qunari’s line of sight shifted over Cullen's shoulder, one eyebrow raised. The Commander turned.

Vira and Alistair were sauntering up. Though Vira’s pace and posture were casual, Cullen could see the faint ruddiness on her nose that indicated she’d been crying recently. 

“Hello, Commander, Bull,” she grinned. 

“Inquisitor,” he said, tilting his head with a smile. “Your majesty.” Cullen bowed.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “I’m told there’s some sort of display of Tevinter prowess about to occur?”

“Oh yeah. You’re gonna love it,” Bull grinned.

Cullen was stealing questioning glances at Vira. Finally she caught one and gave him an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Whatever it was, he’d have to wait to learn more. 

Dorian emerged from the keep, followed by his students. Cullen had to admit, they were becoming very skilled in Dragonstorm. Soon they’d have one competent battlemage for each regiment. 

“Ah, what’s this? My dearest dulcet darlings, we have a royal audience!” Dorian said to his students, waving his arm grandly at Alistair. He gave a deeply florid, yet graceful bow. “Your majesty. We shall endeavor to dazzle you with our... prowess.” 

Cullen snorted; Dorian had punctuated the last comment with a saucy tilt of his eyebrow. He was wearing his training armor, a rather skimpy, tight set of leathers that left most of his chest bare and little else to the imagination. Alistair was beginning to blush. 

The half-dozen students began to run through their paces. This group was the first Dorian had taken on, and therefore the most skilled. Although it was difficult for him at first, Cullen had discovered he truly enjoyed watching them practice. He’d been a Templar for too long, seeing mages only in the light of the circles. All too often, they were bedraggled, beaten down men and women, like seedlings in a rock crevice -- no room to grow, to fulfill the potential given them by the Maker. Was it any wonder so many of them fell to abominations? Not for the first time, Cullen gave a short, silent prayer of thanks for the Inquisition. 

He stole a glance at Alistair. The King was staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the battlemages. The students were doing drill formations with their staves; kicks, lunges and parries, flips, all synchronized to the shouts of command that Dorian issued. 

“That’s... that's  incredible,” Alistair said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Vira said. 

After a few moments, Dorian called a halt to the proceedings. “Excellent, my lovelies. Now. Given that it’s a special occasion, I think our handsome King deserves a grand melee. Gunther, Tilia, you’re on barrier duty. No, don’t you even think of giving me that look. Tilia, you broke your stance on form three at least once, and Gunther, that was the most pathetic serpent-arm I’ve ever seen.” 

Two of the students reluctantly left the ring and took up position outside the fence. Dorian turned to Vira. “What do you think, Inquisitor? Ice against fire?”

“I trust you, Sparkler,” Vira said. 

“What does he mean?” Alistair asked, looking around in confusion. “How can mages have a grand melee?”

“Just watch,” Cullen grinned.

Practice staves were distributed and the barrier spell erected. Dorian stood in the center of the ring, while the four students circled him. 

Suddenly one of the students hurled a chunk of ice at the Tevinter. Dorian dodged it easily, laughing, and the match began. The ring was a blaze of flame and frost, bodies whirling and twisting.

“Maker’s breath! I  _ want _ that!” Alistair exclaimed.

“Get in line, buddy,” Bull rumbled.

“No, I meant, for my army,” Alistair said. Nonetheless, his eyes were trained on Dorian’s body.

“Of course you did,” Bull scoffed indulgently. 

The first of the students ‘fell’. Her robes were singed as a weakened fireball caught her in the back. Cullen smiled. Once the first one went down, it was usually over fast. 

And so it was. Dorian caught each with his flame, scorching their clothes and removing them from the match. He himself was never even kissed by the frost which whirled around him. 

When the last had fallen, Dorian leaned on his staff, breathing hard. Cullen had to admit, he also never tired of the sight of the mage’s body sheened in sweat, hair tousled, breathy with exertion.

Alistair rushed forward to shake his hand and get introductions to the students. Cullen, meanwhile, leaned over to Vira. “Everything all right? You look like you were crying.”

She didn’t look up at him, nor did her smile falter. “He’s had a rough life, our Freckles.”

“That he has,” Cullen said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We all have.”

She put her tiny hand on his, the anchor’s gleam almost invisible in the bright sunlight. “I’m going to miss him.”

“Me too.”

“You lost him once. How long does it take, till you stop missing him?” Vira asked.

Cullen laughed and squeezed her shoulder. “When it happens, I’ll let you know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragonstorm is my head canon for Dorian's fighting style. Think kung fu + magic. If you want more badass fightin' Dorian, there's a bunch of it in Words Fail.


	11. Oh Grey Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of Skyhold turns out for the farewell banquet for King Alistair.

“Is this really the style in Denerim?” Vira scowled at her reflection. The gown fit well enough enough, she supposed -- fitted at the waist, with a high banded collar that left her shoulders bare, and long, graceful sleeves.

It was also brown. Not a rich, mahogany either, but a bland, dun color, almost exactly the same shade as her skin. The fabric was high quality, but without any adornment.

Josephine wrinkled her nose. “It is a bit... subdued, even for Ferelden.” It had been the ambassador’s idea for Vira to wear the traditional costume of the visiting dignitary during the farewell banquet. At least the Orlesian costume was pretty. This was... not.

_“No._ You are not wearing that,” Dorian said, his voice matter-of-fact. “That is terrible. You look like a thumb. Josie, where did you get that horrible shift?”

“I ordered it from the finest dressmaker in Denerim,” Josephine said. “I even sent along a portrait sketch of the Inquisitor.” 

Dorian threw his hands into the air. “There you have it. Sabotage. No doubt the dressmaker is in Anora’s pocket. Probably took one look at the sketch and ordered her to make the least flattering dress in Thedas.”

Vira sighed. “As crazy as that sounds, you might be right. This is pretty dreadful. We might have to abandon the idea of a Ferelden-themed wardrobe. I have Inquisition regalia.”

“Oh, no,” Dorian shook his head vehemently. “Those robes are boring. Do you want  _ me  _ to be the center of attention? Because my pajamas are a better outfit.”

“Not helping,” Vira said. 

In the end, Dorian saved the day, using magic to change the color from beige to a leaf green. With the last minute addition of an embroidered overskirt and a diaphanous cape that caught at her throat, the gown was presentable. Once Josephine left, though, Dorian pulled a trick that was downright wicked. The dress was tailored, but still somewhat loose. The mage soaked the bodice with water, then directed a cone of hot air at Vira. This shrank the fabric directly to the shape of her body, elevating the gown from chaste to sexy, without compromising the Ferelden need for modesty.

It certainly had the intended effect. As host of the banquet, Vira was already in the Great Hall when Alistair arrived with his honor guard. The King marched at the head of his retinue. His step was sure and a relaxed smile played around the corner of his mouth as he approached. Once he grew close enough, Vira rose, throwing back her robe and allowing the gown to drape around her body.

Alistair actually stumbled, losing the pace of his steps. His closest lieutenant knocked into him, causing a chain reaction down the line. From behind her right shoulder, Cullen feigned a completely unconvincing cough to cover his laugh. The King himself chuckled, shaking his head as he closed the remaining distance between them. 

“Something seems to have thrown me off balance,” he said dryly. 

“It appears so,” Vira said, her eyes twinkling. “I’ll be sure to have the flagstones checked. Perhaps one is loose, your majesty.” Raising her voice, she greeted the king formally and called a start to the festivities.

The Orlesian banquet had been a stuffy, dull affair. They dined on course after course, each tiny dish accompanied by a toast from some blowhard or other. This banquet was the opposite. The table groaned with Ferelden delicacies and the guests served themselves. The King had supplied several casks of fine ale and mead, and the cups overflowed. 

Halfway through dinner, Cullen leaned over to her. “Where did you get that dress?” He murmured into her ear, his breath hot. 

Vira gave a throaty chortle. “Denerim. Trust me, it was hideous. Dorian literally had to work his magic to get it presentable.”

“I’d say it’s more than presentable,” Cullen said. “The only question is, will you be able to remove it quickly enough? I may have to rip it from you bodily.”

Heat began to prickle inside Vira’s core. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Cullen purred. “I see you didn’t bother to wear a chemise. That's not very Ferelden of you, my dear. Your excitement is starting to show.” He glanced at her chest.

Vira looked down. Her nipples had, indeed, resolved into hard peaks at the sound of Cullen's voice. “Damn,” she swore. “I didn’t think about that.”

“I, for one, am rather enjoying the sight. And I’m sure I’m not the only one.” His gaze wandered to Alistair, and Vira’s eyes followed.

The King was idly sipping a goblet of mead. His brown eyes found hers. The need in that look was staggering.

After dinner, Maryden played lively tunes in the corner and people began to dance. Cullen was in the midst of a long story about a prank Alistair pulled as an initiate. It involved several inkwells, candle wax, flash paper, and a mummified nug. The King’s face got progressively more abashed the longer the story went on, until finally he buried his head in this hands. Cullen's eyes sparkled brightly, and his grin was so joyful that Vira’s eyes watered. 

The table burst out with laughter when the punchline was delivered. Vira didn’t even hear it; she was too busy trying to memorize the moment. 

Sera crashed her goblet into Alistair’s. “Right, that was good,” she said reluctantly. “Guess you’re not a tosser after all.”

“Sera!” Blackwall laughed. “You can’t call the King a tosser.”

“I didn’t, did I?”

Vira smiled and shook her head, still only half-paying attention. There was a lump in her throat; Alistair’s impending departure was weighing on her. Dorian got up from the table and held out his hand to her. “My lady Inquisitor. Would you grace me with a dance?” 

Rousing herself, Vira nodded. She suspected that Dorian’s request had more to do with her melancholy than a sudden desire to dance. Still, she took to the floor, Dorian swirling her about. She hadn’t had many opportunities for dancing since Halamshiral, but the steps came easily. 

“You look ravishing, my dear,” he said. “I’m glad we went with the green. Does marvelous things for your eyes.”

“Thanks, Dorian,” she said. “For everything.”

“My pleasure, Inquisitor.” 

A stately Polonaise followed, and Alistair cut in. “Might I take this lovely creature off your hands, Dorian?” 

“I suppose,” Dorian sighed in mock sadness. “If you must.” He bowed, bringing her hand to his lips, before handing her off to the King.

The dance began. Though she’d found this particular form of dance unbearably stodgy in the past, Vira had to admit that the steps took on a smoldering intimacy when performed by Alistair. For the most part, the dance was performed side-by-side. His hand should’ve hovered an inch or so off of her shoulders, not touching her. Instead, he clasped Vira’s waist, holding her close.

“I had no idea the Dalish were such good dancers.” Alistair said, guiding her in a spin under his outstretched arm. 

“We’re not,” Vira said. “Dorian practically pulled his moustache out trying to teach me. I have to say, your majesty, you’re almost as good as he is.”

The King sighed. “I had to learn for my wedding,” he said, his voice glum. 

“Ah,” Vira said. She attempted to change the subject. “Are you enjoying the banquet?”

“I cannot possibly fault the company,” he said formally. He casually shifted his hand so that their fingers were interlaced, rather than just clasped. He leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Though the cheese course  _ did  _ leave a little something to be desired.”

Vira laughed helplessly. Somehow the space between them collapsed even further. “I’ll have to have a word with our cooks. Now that I know your tastes, I can accommodate you better next time.”

“Is that so? I’d say you’ve been  _ very  _ accommodating.” There was a hint of breathiness to his voice which sent shivers down Vira’s spine.

She looked away for a moment, trying to collect herself. There was something odd going on. The music had changed, and the floor was quite empty. “Don’t look now, but you realize it’s just us dancing, right?”

“It’s not every day the King dances with the most beautiful woman in Thedas,” he said, his gaze still trained on her face. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered it.” 

Vira groaned as she realized what Maryden was playing. “I’m going to kill that bard.”

“What? Why?”

“Listen,” Vira said through gritted teeth. The bard began to sing:

_ Oh Grey Warden, what have you done? _

_ The oath you have taken is all but broken. _

Alistair went white. For a moment, he looked absolutely furious. Then, he grinned and looked down at Vira. “They want a show? We’ll give them one.” He winked, then guided her into an effortless spin, whirling her away from him, then back, lifting her through the air. When she broke from the maneuver, he pulled her to face him, pressing her small body to his. There was a full measure, then another, where they stood motionless, pressed close. Then, seamlessly, he led her into a roaming waltz, twirling her about the room, her full skirt billowing out.

It was entirely inappropriate for them to be so close. Literally every eye in the room was on them. However, there were a few saving graces. For one, Alistair now sported a slightly-goofy smile, one that Vira found herself mirroring. And for another, the King led her through a series of increasingly-elaborate spins and dips, as if they were hosting a dance exhibition. The crowd began to laugh and applaud, and the press of their bodies together seemed more playful than erotic.

He ended the dance with an impossibly deep dip, Vira’s hair almost brushing the floor before he snapped her body back to his. Now the crowd applauded in earnest, and he breathed in her ear, “See? It’s fine. I have learned a thing or two about the court, you know. Just remember to smile.”

Vira did, a wide grin that masked the slick heat which began to pool inside her when his lips brushed her ear. The music swelled again and she tottered over to the banquet table to brace herself with some mead. The King clearly knew what he was doing; he immediately asked Josephine for a dance, to avert some of the attention away from Vira. She took the opportunity to slip out of the room for a moment. She definitely needed some air.

The rotunda was quiet and cool, a stark counterpoint to the bustle of the banquet. Vira sighed, perching on the desk, still cluttered with scrolls and books and paintbrushes, exactly as Solas left it. There were only a few torches lit, casting deep shadows up the murals. 

The paintings were stark and beautiful. She gazed at them, the strength and surety of Solas’ hand as apparent in the paint as it once was on her body.

The aching melancholy which had dogged her all day hit her in full force, now that the distractions were removed. Fenedhis. What the hell had she gotten into? She knew keeping things secret would be difficult; it hadn’t occurred to her that it would be painful. Vira had been blinded by limerence, unable to see how fruitless the endeavor was. Cullen, at least, had spent a decade coming to terms with the impossibility of things, and was probably more than happy to accept whatever scraps of affection were available to him. Vira was not. She  wanted , plain and simple. Her desire was a hungry, gluttonous thing, and she’d become accustomed to getting her way.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Vira turned, expecting to see Dorian or perhaps the Iron Bull. 

When Blackwall loomed into view, Vira blinked. The man leaned in the doorway, one foot kicked out. “Thought I might find you here,” he said.

“Hello, Blackwall,” Vira said. “I’m surprised to see you,” she admitted. Although she’d come to deeply respect the warrior, they’d never been particularly close. Certainly not someone she would expect to offer comfort or advice.

There was a pause as Blackwall stared up at the murals. “Do you miss him? Solas, I mean.”

“Yes and no,” Vira said. “He could be a pompous ass, but we... were a comfort to each other. For a little while, at least.” 

“He certainly was pompous,” Blackwall agreed. “Fine mage, though. And he was willing to make the hard choices. I respected that.”

Vira’s smile was bitter. “I take it that you don’t exactly approve of my choices.”

“I didn’t say that,” Blackwall said. 

Vira laughed. “Your tone said it for you. And even if it hadn’t, your own actions would have.”

Blackwall frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you’ve been suffering in silence for months, pining after Josie. If that's not a hard choice, I don’t know what is.” Vira said. “I must seem very weak-willed in comparison.”

“That’s you talking, not me,” he said. Pushing himself off the wall, he walked over to her. “If I thought there was a chance for a glimmer of happiness with Lady Montilyet, I would have taken it long ago, believe me.” 

Vira chewed her lip. There wasn’t much she could say to that. Josephine had told her that Blackwall’s station meant that the “splendor of lost hearts” was all that could ever be. Frankly, that sounded like a load of bullshit to Vira, but then again, she was raised by wolves. 

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and the King. It’s none of my business,” Blackwall said. “I know you and I are not exactly close, not the way you are with the others. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Can’t be easy, being the center of attention all the time.”

Vira laughed. “You can say that again. If I didn’t have to take a piss occasionally, I’d never get any time to myself.”

Far above them, the ravens shifted in their cages, as Blackwall’s laugh rang upwards. “I knew you were an alright sort, Inquisitor,” he said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the party before they miss you.”

“Thanks, Blackwall,” Vira said, sliding down from the desk. 

“No problem, my lady. Besides, you get too maudlin, you’ll be wanting to raid my grey whiskey, just like all the rest of us lovesick fools. I’m already running low.” Blackwall put an arm around her shoulder and walked her back to the banquet.

***

Cullen watched as Alistair danced with Vira. They looked good together. Maybe later they’d look even better, without all those bothersome clothes. Maybe they’d - 

A simpering voice cut into his daydream. “The King of Ferelden is a handsome man, no?”

Cullen looked at the source of the disruption. It was one of the Orlesians, a masked dandy that the Commander had seen hanging about the Great Hall. In fact, he’d never seen the man anywhere else. What did he  _ do _ _,_ exactly?

“Yes,” Cullen replied finally. “He is.” He kept his voice short. Cullen had never had patience for this nonsense.

“And he looks so content, dancing with the lady Inquisitor,” the man noted innocently.

“They are both fine dancers,” Cullen agreed, his voice level. 

“Yes. She does seem to be enjoying herself,” the man continued, as if making idle chatter. 

“I’m sure she is,” Cullen sighed. The man was clearly trying to get a rise out of him. Cullen may not have been particularly skilled at the Game, but he knew when he was being manipulated. He looked over at the Iron Bull. Soon enough the Qunari glanced in his direction and caught his stare. Cullen tilted his head at the Orlesian. Bull shifted his gaze back to the dance floor, tapping Dorian on the shoulder. After two seconds he stood up as if stretching, and walked over.

The Orlesian looked down his nose at Vira, currently being twirled about by Alistair. “Does it not bother you to see your intended dance so intimately with --”

“Would you care for a dance?” Bull said, bowing to the Orlesian, cutting off the man’s simpering voice.

“What? I... a dance? With you?” The man looked at Bull in confusion.

“Why not? You seem very intent on the dance floor. And I’m an excellent dancer,” Bull grinned. “Just ask Cullen.”

“It’s true, he is,” Cullen nodded. “Quite smooth on his feet.”

The Orlesian spluttered in confusion. “No, I’m afraid, you misunderstand, I --”

“Excuse me, are you attempting to dance with Bull?” Dorian’s voice rang out in indignation as the mage strode up. “Good sir, please tell me you intend no such thing. The man is spoken for. I’d hate for this to come to a duel.” He produced a small gout of flame on his palm.

“I - what? No, that is, he --” The dandy’s head swiveled between the men, desperately trying to explain.

“Oh, I see. Blaming Bull for your no-doubt unquenchable desires? Well, I cannot let this insult pass.” Dorian’s eyes narrowed. Cullen bit back a laugh when the mage somehow managed to send visible electric sparks through his hair.

“Sweetie, calm down,” Bull said, putting a hand on Dorian’s shoulder.

Now Cullen really did have to put a hand up to his mouth the hide his grin. Of all the improbable things he’d experienced in his life, hearing a Qunari utter the word ‘sweetie’ had to be close to the top of the list. 

The Orlesian was frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish. Bull, of course, did not relent.

“Maybe he’s just being friendly,” Bull said, murmuring into Dorian’s ear but looking at the Orlesian. “Maybe he wants to join us later. What do you think he looks like, under that mask?”

“Hmmm. I don’t know. I suppose he could leave it on,” Dorian said. He leaned his weight on one hip, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “It certainly would lend an air of mystery.” 

The Orlesian was now shaking visibly and sporting a rather obvious erection. “I - I must go - excuse me - I -” He scampered off.

“Asshole,” Bull said. 

“I don’t know, think he seemed a bit interested at the end,” Dorian said, shrugging. Bull snorted. 

“Thanks, gentlemen. That was far preferable to the alternative,” Cullen said.

“Which was?” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“Me punching his simpering mouth,” Cullen said. 

“Mmm, yes. Might’ve caught your knuckle on the mask. They can be terribly sharp,” Dorian nodded. 

“I’m not gonna ask how you know that, sweetie,” Bull said. 


	12. Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Alistair's last night at Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy! Please note updated tags!

Alistair hurried through the dusty corridor. Left at the broken torch, past three doors, right up the stairs, through the gallery, left before the old library, up the ladder, then through the tower landings, another ladder, and the final set of stairs. He emerged, triumphant, into Vira’s quarters. “I made it. Finally,” he said, panting slightly. He took the glass of wine Vira held out to him. “Do you make all your guests run the gauntlet?”

She grinned. “No. I conduct a fair amount of business at my desk, so it’s easy to have people come and go during the day. Trickier at night. And of course Morrigan flew in through the balcony.”

Alistair shuddered. “Ah, there’s the dirty feathers image again.”

Cullen laughed. “I’m telling you, there were no feathers involved. Well, not that time, anyway.” He winked at Vira, who suddenly looked embarrassed, drinking from her cup.

“Right, I’m... not going to ask about that,” Alistair said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. 

“Vira’s a bit ticklish in certain places.” Cullen confided. “Maybe some day she’ll show you.”

And there it was. Talk of the future. At this point, it was just another reminder that he was leaving in the morning. Alistair frowned into his glass. Would there be a ‘some day’? Did it matter? Shouldn’t he just enjoy the moment, not think about his cold, grey apartment back at the castle? He didn’t even have the questionable pleasure of Anora’s monthly visit to look forward to, now she was expecting. Probably good that she was; would he even be able to perform, after all this? 

The downward spiral of his thought was interrupted by small hands firmly pulling him closer. “Try not to think about it,” Vira said. 

“I know,” Alistair nodded resolutely, straightening his shoulders. He blew air through his lips. “I know.”

“Need I remind you two that the world isn’t technically ending tomorrow?” Cullen said. “Alistair, we’ll see you in just a few months, after the baby is born. And then there’s the wedding, you’ll be here for that, surely? Not to mention whatever other opportunities there are for visits? It’s not like we just sit around Skyhold all the time. Vira’s got to go to South Reach to close rifts. Maybe you should, I don’t know, take up hunting or something.”

Alistair chuckled. “This is coming dangerously close to a re-telling of  _ Arl Jacen’s Ride,  _ isn’t it?”

“How about this,” Vira said, holding up her glass. “A toast. To... to....” She faltered. 

“Are you stuck? I can go get that Cole creature, if you like. He can just blurt it out on your behalf,” Alistair said. 

Vira laughed. “To the impossible,” she said, clinking their glasses. 

“Wait,” Alistair said, before the glasses reached their lips. “I... I want you to know... I trust you,” he said, looking at Vira, hoping his meaning was clear.

Her gaze softened, and she smiled. “Good,” she said finally. “I’m glad.”

“To the impossible,” he said. Alistair drank, concentrating on the sweet, cool wine and not the way his hand shook. And then one of them was taking the goblet from his fingers, and the other began unhooking the buttons on his doublet. 

It was Cullen undressing him, his fingers steadily working the small buttons. Vira, meanwhile, moved about the room, extinguishing candles, until the only light was the fire in the hearth, bathing them with a ruddy glow. 

When Alistair was stripped to his breeches, Cullen turned his attention on the Inquisitor, still in the stunning green gown. The Commander rounded on her, predatory.

“Ah ah,” she winked and held up a hand. With the other, she pulled on a string that crisscrossed down her back. Within seconds, she’d loosened the closure enough to pull the dress forward off her shoulders, and then step out of it.

She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. 

Alistair groaned to know that when he’d danced with her, there was only one thin layer of silk between his hand and her body. 

Cullen was now clad in his tunic and trousers. He pulled the tunic over his head, the muscles in his shoulders and arms bunching, then scooped the Inquisitor up and heaved her on to the bed. 

By now they were all laughing. Alistair joined them on the bed, their bodies knotted together in a tangle of limbs and lips and fingers and breath. The laughter died out quickly, replaced by the sound of skin against skin. 

He would miss this, Alistair was certain. There would be many nights, he knew, where he would wake with a jolt, and these sensations, so real in his dreams, so perfectly capturing this moment, would fade almost instantly. He’d lived with the ghosts of young Cullen and Solona haunting his sleep for over ten years. At least now they’d have company.

Cullen was sliding down Vira’s body. Alistair watched her face as the Commander’s mouth began its slow torment. Her eyes flew open, meeting Alistair’s as a moan was pulled from her lips. 

Alistair felt himself getting hard, just watching the expression on Vira’s face. He brushed the hair from her forehead. “Maker, but you’re beautiful,” he breathed. “I’ll never tire of seeing you like this.”

Vira gasped, her lips attempting to form words, even as she arched under Cullen's tongue. 

“Shh, let me just watch you,” Alistair whispered. “I want to remember this. I want to see you.” 

He glanced down at Cullen, groaning as he saw the man’s face buried between Vira’s legs. Their eyes met, and Alistair’s cock twitched. He turned back to Vira. “Cullen knows just where to touch you, doesn’t he?”

She nodded, panting.

“Ah, some day. Some day I’ll know your body just as well. I want that so badly. To know just how to touch you, just how to taste you, to make you come apart.” Alistair ran a finger over her lips, groaning as she nipped at it, then sucked it into her mouth. 

Soon Vira was frantic, her eyes tight as she struggled to maintain focus on Alistair. He pulled his fingers away, tracing them down to pinch her nipples, hard, like she liked it. That much he knew, at any rate. She squealed, arching her back and then her hips.

Cullen had her caught in a current of pleasure. Alistair watched her struggle, watched her attempt to focus on the sensations that wracked through her. His breathing matched her own as he was swept up in the torrent. 

“Maker, that's it. Let it happen. Oh yes,” he breathed, licking his lips. He was painfully hard now, more so from the motion of her hips and thigh against his achingly stiff length.

Vira began to babble, her eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure crashed through her. Her body arched, her head and hips the only point of contact with the mattress. And then she lay back, twitching and spasming. Alistair could hear Cullen's muffled moans as the Commander continued to suckle and lick, now gently, as the peak receded. 

And then Cullen was there, laying beside him, claiming Alistair’s mouth with wet kisses, smeared with the taste of Vira. The combination was overwhelming and Alistair lost himself for a long moment, his moans into the Commander’s mouth almost animalistic. And then there was no ‘almost’ about it; Alistair was grunting rhythmically as Cullen wrapped his hand around the man’s cock, stroking insistently.

“Come for me, good boy. Come. You can do it. Come on. That's a good boy,” Cullen's voice in his ear was maddening. “I want you to fuck Vira, and I want it to last. You can do that for me, can’t you?” 

Alistair groaned, nodding. 

“That’s good. You were always so good for me. I love seeing you fall apart in my hands. Come on. I know you want to take her. And I know just how good it feels to be inside her when she comes. You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Alistair was finally able to form a word. 

“Then come,” Cullen said, directly into his ear. “She wants to have us both.” 

The orgasm sparked through Alistair, sharp and hard. Vira licked away the spend from his belly, sucking Cullen's fingers as well. Alistair could do little more than watch, willing the breath to return to his lungs. 

Cullen pulled Vira up. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” she said, without hesitation. “I at least want to try.”

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?” Cullen asked.

Alistair suddenly realized that Vira’s version of ‘both’ was not what he’d envisioned. “Hold on. Wait. Do you... really want... I thought he meant... Maker’s breath, there really are some things that are impossible to say out loud.”

Vira smiled. “Not impossible. Just very embarrassing.”

“You’ve got that right. I’m surprised I’m not still blushing,” Cullen said.

Alistair squinted at her skeptically. “And... you enjoy... that, do you? Ah, in the... um....”

“In the ass?” Vira prompted, laughing. “Yes, very much so. I’ve been wanting to do this for ages, but I haven’t had access to... ah, suitable participants.” 

Alistair blinked. 

“Oh, shit, that came out completely wrong,” Vira said, laying a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. Damn. What I meant was, I’ve always wanted to do this. But it’s not something you can just do with anyone, I think you’ll agree.”

“Clearly not,” he nodded. 

“We don’t have to,” Vira said, looking at him carefully. “If you don’t want to.” 

“No, no, I’d like to. I was just surprised. It’s quite fun, actually.” He grimaced. “I said that out loud again, didn’t I?”

“What?” Cullen was laughing. “When have you done that?”

He coughed apologetically. “Years ago. With, er, Isabela. And... um.” He looked at the ceiling.

“Not with Zevran, surely?” Cullen said.

“Maker’s breath, no, it was... fine. It was with Hawke. Ah, in Kirkwall.” He cleared his throat.

Vira dissolved into laughter, collapsing down on the bed. Meanwhile, Cullen's eyes could not possibly get any wider. 

“Well, you turned me down!” Alistair said. “So I snuck out to the Tavern to drink away my disappointment. And Isabela was there with Hawke, and then one thing and another... I do have to say, it was a little embarrassing, running into Bodahn at Hawke’s estate. And that simple son of his... can’t remember his name, going on and on about enchantments.” He shook his head.

Vira clambered off the bed, still laughing. “Alistair, I have to say, you are full of surprises.” She retrieved her wineglass and took a sip. “Any other raunchy tales you’d like to grace us with?”

“No, that's... that's basically the most debauched moment of my life.” 

“Basically?” Vira said, arching her brow. She handed him and Cullen their glasses, then curled into a half-sitting position on the bed. 

“Oh, are we trading tales now? Story time, is it?”

“Why not? I think we all need a moment to recover from our shock.”

They sipped their wine and lounged on the bed. Alistair almost choked when he heard about Cullen getting a lesson in spanking from the Iron Bull, with Dorian as the test subject. That was certainly a surprise. And Vira had a few tales from Ansburg that were quite funny, though somehow Alistair found himself getting a little aroused as well. And then she launched into a story involving herself, Cullen, the Iron Bull, and a bound and blindfolded Dorian, and there was no ‘little’ about it. His cock was twitching with interest under the pillow he’d curled up around. 

“Augh, stop,” Alistair laughed, shaking his head. “I’m having trouble getting the picture out of my head.”

“Oh, it was a  _ very  _ pretty picture,” Vira breathed, looking at Cullen. “And it sounded even better. That voice, telling poor Dorian everything that Bull was doing to me? And then watching him tease the poor man till he was trembling? Creators.” Vira’s eyes rolled back in her head as she remembered it. 

Somehow the wine glasses were discarded. Cullen was kissing Vira as he knelt over her.  These were deep, slow kisses, with Cullen's hands carded through her hair. Alistair traced his fingers down Cullen's spine, lightly dragging along the crease of his ass. The man moaned into Vira’s mouth and spread his legs, giving Alistair easier access. 

There was a bottle of oil on the nightstand. Alistair rolled to retrieve it, oiling his fingers. Slowly, he circled the tight whorl of Cullen's entrance, feeling the band of muscle under the pad of his finger.

Cullen moaned louder, bucking back against him. Alistair’s finger sank in, up to the second knuckle. He kept still while Cullen rocked against him, now groaning rhythmically. He’d broken his kiss with Vira and was staring into her eyes. Alistair began to push back, sinking in further, listening to the way Cullen's voice and breathing changed in response.

He put a hand on Cullen's hip, holding him still, then added another finger. Cullen's head snapped back, grunting. Alistair pushed gently, stretching the man. It was clear that Cullen had done this before, as he began moving again almost immediately, tiny motions designed to allow his body to adapt. 

Vira slid down between Cullen's legs and wrapped her lips around the crown of his cock, twisting her hand around him. The moans coming from the ex-Templar’s mouth were continuous. Soon enough he was pushing himself away from Vira and Alistair. “I need to stop, if I'm to do anything else tonight,” he said apologetically.

“Well, then, maybe it’s my turn,” Vira said. She rolled to kneel, pulling Alistair up with her. The elf kissed him, as she had Cullen. At the same time, Cullen began to re-enact Alistair’s ministrations on her body. Her kisses were diffuse, unfocused, as her attention was centered on Cullen's fingers stretching her. Still, it was electric for Alistair, her tiny gasps falling on his lips, into his neck, her teeth nipping as her hips began to buck. 

He was aching, his slit already leaking when Cullen pulled Vira down. Alistair laid on his back, hissing with pleasure as she straddled him, guiding his length into her. When he was seated, Vira nodded, looking over her shoulder.

Slowly, his eyes trained on Vira’s face, Cullen pushed the head of his cock past the band of muscle. He immediately froze as she heaved a gasp.

“No, it’s... it’s  _ good,” _ she said. “Keep going. Slow,” she said.

Watching her face as she took Cullen in was one thing. Feeling it from within her body was another. Alistair gritted his teeth, forcing himself to breathe. 

Vira was sighing with each exhalation, the sound echoing through the almost-silent room. Cullen held still when one of the sighs had an edge to it, and Vira’s brow furrowed slightly. “Do you want to stop?” 

She shook her head. “It’s just... a lot,” she chuckled, her eyes closed.

Cullen drew a hand down Vira’s spine, causing her to shudder and buck on to him, just a bit. Alistair groaned at the sensation. Cullen repeated the gesture, getting another shudder, another moan. And again, again, until he was hilted within Vira.

Cullen paused again. “How does it feel, Vira?” 

She opened her eyes, looking down at Alistair. “Amazing.”

Cullen withdrew fractionally, then pushed into her. Alistair knew the whine which came from his mouth was needy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. When he’d done this with Isabela, she’d issued orders to Hawke and Alistair like a seasoned general, and there had been a great deal of laughing. Turned out she’d only done it to prove to Hawke that it was really possible; they’d moved on to other pursuits quite quickly.

This was completely different, possibly one of the most intimate things he’d ever shared with anyone. Slowly, Cullen rocked in and out of Vira. Alistair couldn’t seem to look away from Vira’s face; she was focused on a spot somewhere in the middle distance, her expression exultant. 

Within moments, they were all moaning and gasping, moving together gently, waves in a calm sea. It felt endless. It might very well have been endless, except at some point Vira reached down and began to touch herself.

Alistair could feel her body change, the heat of her becoming more slick, taut. “Oh, Maker,” he gasped. Her fingers worked at the swollen knot of flesh, digging into herself. Cullen eased up on his thrusts, resuming the gentle rocking motion. Vira was shaking her head, panting, her hand now moving quickly. She was swearing under her breath, her eyes squeezed shut tightly.

Alistair traced her cheek with his finger. “Vira, Vira please. Please open your eyes for me. Please, I want to see you.”

With a warbled, mewling cry, she wrenched her eyes open. They were almost panicked, the pleasure building in her was so enormous. Alistair’s eyes flicked over her shoulder to Cullen; the man nodded sharply, his own breath ragged.

“Please, Vira. Can you come for us? Maker, I want to feel you. Please. Please.” He begged, shameless. “I’m so close, but I need to feel you, Vira. Come for us. Please, my love.”

He hadn’t meant to say the word, but when he did, he felt the scales tipping. The spasms began to well up inside her, gripping both Alistair and Cullen, strong as thunder rolling down from the mountains. 

As she came, sobbing, shaking, rutting up and down against them both, Alistair could also feel the beginning pulses of Cullen's orgasm. The man growled, biting at Vira’s shoulder, making her squeal and clench. 

Alistair surrendered himself to it. His range of motion was almost nothing; the orgasm was instead drawn from him, not something he chased after but something Vira and Cullen wrested from him bodily. His head slammed back into the pillow as his body arched as far as it could, all his muscles taut. He seemed to erupt within Vira, a long, almost painful surge that wracked through him, accompanied by his wordless, grateful moan. 

He felt Cullen pull out of Vira almost at once, and she shuddered, no doubt partially in relief. Her tiny form collapsed onto Alistair’s, Cullen rolling to one side, covering them both with half his body. 

For a long moment, no one spoke or moved. Alistair wondered if Vira could hear the beating of his heart; with those ears, he guessed she probably could.

Eventually, she cleared her throat. “I need to clean up,” she said, her voice a bit hoarse. Cullen made way, allowing her to disentangle herself. 

Alistair heard the sound of splashing from the basin behind the screen in the corner. He knew he needed to do the same, then get under the covers, then fall asleep, then wake up, then leave. Somehow, he was having a hard time with that. 

Vira tottered back over, and Cullen rose to wash as well. Alistair rested his arm over his eyes. Perhaps if he couldn’t see anything, time would somehow stand still?

Alas, no. Cullen returned, and then, agonizingly, Alistair forced himself to rise. He dragged himself to the washbasin and cleaned himself up. By the time he’d gotten back to the bed, Vira and Cullen were under the covers. He joined them, letting Vira rest between their bodies. 

“Did you mean it?” she whispered. 

He knew better than to ask for clarification; he knew what she meant. Her back was to him. Alistair opened his eyes. Cullen was looking at him. 

“Yes,” Alistair said. Cullen’s mouth twitched into a hint of a smile, and he brought his arm up to enfold them both. 

Vira’s face was burrowed against Cullen's chest. It wasn’t until they felt her shaking that the men realized she was crying.

As they gave her some space, she was wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I tried not to, I wanted to be strong but... I’m sorry.” She shook her head, whispering it over and over.

“Shh, it’s fine,” Cullen said, stroking her hair. “Stop apologizing.” 

Alistair kissed her shoulder. “Would it help if I ordered you to stop crying? I could, you know.”

She laughed, a wrenching sound, thick with tears. “No. I don’t take orders,” she said.

“Well,  _ sometimes  _ you do,” Cullen said.

“Shut up,” she said, swatting him on the chest. She sniffled hugely.

“Ah, the goose makes a return appearance,” Alistair said. 

Vira laughed helplessly, blowing her nose loudly into a handkerchief Cullen retrieved from the nightstand. 

“There it is!” Alistair crowed. “See, I knew it wouldn’t stay hidden for long.”

“Stop! Stop being so funny. You’re making me miss you and you’re not even gone yet,” Vira protested.

“Sorry, no can do,” Alistair shook his head. “You bring out the worst in me, I’m afraid.” 

“I’ll say,” Cullen smirked.

“Hey!” Alistair objected. “I only ever learned to be funny to make you laugh, Cullen. Technically, it’s all your fault.”

“Yes, let’s blame Cullen,” Vira said, settling back down between them. 

“What?” Cullen laughed.

“Sorry, we took a vote.” Vira clucked her tongue. “Since it’s your fault, bank the fire, would you?”

Cullen grumbled, but crawled out of the bed and did as she asked. The room was now very dark.

Alistair felt the mattress shift as Cullen returned. “We’ll do this again, right? I mean, the being together part. Not specifically the... um.”

He knew Vira must have shaken the momentary good humor, because she didn’t taunt him for being a prude. Instead, he felt her body sigh. “I hope so.”

“We will,” Cullen said firmly. “I waited over a decade. A few months is nothing.”

“True,” Alistair acknowledged the point. “We’ll find a way.” 

There was a few moments of silence. Sleep seemed to creep up on them. Given the considerable exertions of earlier in the evening, it wasn’t a shock.

Just before he was about to fall asleep, Alistair felt Vira squirm slightly. “Good night, my love,” she breathed. 

It could’ve been directed towards Cullen alone. Surely she said such things every night as she drifted off to sleep. But the way she snuggled herself closer into Alistair, and the way Cullen reached over her to caress his arm, he chose to believe she was talking to them both. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. You made it. You made it through the angst and came out on the other side. Now. Let me take care of you. If you're still reading this and haven't given up on me, you deserve a happy ending. I promise, I won't let you down. Only a few more chapters to go! I'll add the final count once I've written ahead a bit.


	13. Mixed Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair returns to Denerim and had a little chat with Anora. The King's first letter to Cullen arrives at Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming up on the end of things - maybe, 4-5 chapters to go? I am now frantically trying to finish before the Trespasser DLC completely screws up my headcanon. :D

Leaving was hard. Alistair knew it would be. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he wasn’t stupid. Okay, so technically, he wasn’t exactly smart either, but still. Farewells between lovers are never easy, and doubly so with two.

They said their real goodbyes in private of course, early in the morning before the sun came up. There were tears and then embraces and then kisses and then rather a lot of desperate sex and then more tears. The official send-off took place in the courtyard. The Inquisitor said a few formal words, he said a few back. They kept their faces completely blank. Alistair found it was easier to focus his gaze on Vira’s hairline rather than her eyes; she did the same. And then a bunch of nonsense bows and so forth. He hardly remembered that part. Too busy concentrating on dragging the air into his lungs and then forcing it out again.

Still, it wasn’t actually as hard as he thought it would be. It was sad, yes, but he wasn’t heartbroken. He’d see them again. Not nearly as much as he would like, of course, but just knowing that he was loved, after so long, tempered the pain. 

By the time he reached Redcliffe, he was almost his old self again. He had a nice visit with Arl Teagan, sent the first of many letters to Cullen, and resumed the journey to Denerim. When he arrived at the city gates a few days later, he actually felt relatively good. 

That ended quickly, however. He was obligated to spend at least a little time with Anora. They were to have dinner together, ostensibly to reunite after such a long separation. Thank the Maker it wasn’t an official state event. 

He arrived in their private dining room at seven bells. She wasn’t there, of course. It was her little game, to always be late to their meetings. The woman was fastidiously punctual with everyone else. In the past, this infuriated him. Now, however, he just shrugged. He had at least fifteen minutes to kill, so he poured himself a drink, waving off the wine steward who hurried forward.

“Nah, it’s fine, I’ve got it, Winston.” Alistair sipped his drink and yawned. He spied a bowl of apples on the sideboard. “Hey, you know how to juggle?”

The steward, a fusty man in his late fifties, shook his head. “No, sire.”

“Any of you?” Alistair looked to the half-dozen or so servants that hovered about. There was a bevy of head-shaking.

“I used to be quite good at it, when I was young.” He selected three apples. “One of the monks taught me. The trick is....” His voice slowed as he began to juggle, his eyes trained on the motion of the fruit. “The trick is... to not look at your hands....” 

The door opened and Anora was admitted, accompanied as always by a lady-in-waiting. Alistair could see them out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t turn. “Greetings, your majesty,” he said, still watching the apples. “I hope this evening finds you well.”

“Tolerable.” There was a pause. “Tell me, is this a trick you learned from our Inquisitor? Did she also teach you to sit up and beg for treats for our fair Ferelden?” 

Alistair continued to juggle. So it was going to be one of  _ those  _ nights. He’d anticipated as much, but still. There was always a chance that Anora would someday treat him with respect and/or civility. Really, he’d settle for just one at this point.

The apples still whirling in the air, Alistair sighed. “Leave us, all of you. I must speak to the queen alone. And no listening at the doors - Samantha, I mean you specifically,” he scowled. The Queen’s lady-in-waiting was a notorious snoop. 

Once the shuffling ceased and the door closed, Alistair caught the apples. He set one back in the bowl, then hesitated. “Want one?” he asked, holding the fruit out to his glowering queen. “Come on, it’s good for the baby.”

She raised an eyebrow and reached out her hand. He nodded, giving her half a smile, and handed her an apple. He took a large bite out of the other and pulled a chair out from the table, sitting in it. “So. Here’s the thing. You’re miserable, I’m miserable. Well, I was. Doing quite well, considering. And it got me thinking. What would make you happy, Anora? Aside from my untimely death, that is?”

She huffed a sigh. “I don’t wish you dead, Alistair.”

He laughed, almost choking on his fruit. “Please. Spare me the nonsense. I know you loathe me. It’s not exactly a secret. I’m not going to have you tried for treason for admitting it. You know I planned to hire a food taster as soon as you’ve given birth. So. Back to my original question. If anything at all were possible, what would make you happy?” He sliced a bit of cheese and nibbled at it.

“Why are you wasting my time with this?” Anora said.

“You’d rather snipe at me while we both choke down some food? Must get terribly tiring.” 

There was a pause where she looked at him in confusion. It was the first time in years that he’d seen anything but contempt on her face.

“What has gotten _into_ you?” Anora shook her head.

He held out his hand, gesturing that she should hand over the apple she still clenched. Alistair began to slice it into thin wedges, and placed slices of cheese on top of each. “What’s gotten into me, my queen, is happiness. Do you even remember what it feels like? I didn’t.” He set the plate in front of her. 

Numbly, she put a morsel into her mouth, her eyes widening slightly as she realized how tasty it was. She wolfed the bite down and quickly took another.

Alistair smiled at her. “I’m guessing you don’t remember. It’s been so long, hasn’t it? First Cailin dies, then your father, and then you have to marry me and run the country by yourself while I grieved. I’m sorry for that. I truly am. You must’ve been grieving too. I was too far gone to realize it at the time.” Alistair sipped his wine. “No wonder you hate me. I was wallowing in self-pity while you kept the country from falling apart.”

She continued to stare at him skeptically. “You don’t honestly think that being sorry about it now makes it all better, do you?”

“Of course not,” Alistair said, laughing. “But that's no reason we have to keep slicing away at each other, is it? Wouldn’t you rather be happy, than try to make me miserable?”

Anora blinked rapidly and looked away. Alistair hadn’t really expected her to respond, at least not right away. She probably thought it was a trick, a trap. That's how her mind tended to work, anyway.

“Look. You don’t have to answer me now. Think about it. Things are going to change once the baby is born. What would make you happy? Do you want to remain Queen at my side? Do you want me to step aside and name you Regent? Do you want a divorce? Do you even want to rule? Maybe you want to be a nug farmer, I don’t know. I do know that almost anything is possible. I’d forgotten. But I won’t forget again. I mean to be happy, Anora. And you should be, too. You’ve done more for Ferelden in the past ten years than anyone. You deserve it.” 

He watched her for a minute longer. When she didn’t react, he rose. “Well. I’ll leave you to it. How are you feeling, by the way?”

“What?” She looked up at him.

“With the, er... pregnancy. Is it going well?” 

She blinked. “Yes, thank the Maker.” 

Alistair nodded. “Good. Good. Let me know if there’s anything you need.” He started to walk out. His hand was on the doorknob when she spoke.

“How can I possibly trust you?”

Since he was facing the door, Anora did not see the glimmer of a smile that crossed Alistair’s face. Which was good, he thought. He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t serious about this. He turned and walked back to her.

Her voice was bitter, which was to be expected.  _ “Happiness,  _ you say. I don’t know if that's even possible for me anymore. I’ve spent ten years dreading this, you know. You think your life is in danger from me? Did it not occur to you that I’ve been living in fear this whole time? That I’d be the one blamed for not conceiving? That I’d be set aside, or worse? I have no lands, no title, not any more. And once I’ve given birth, what use will you have for me then?”

He knelt by her chair, putting a gentle hand on the armrest. Now that he was close, he could see she was... maybe not afraid, but apprehensive. “Have I ever, in this entire time, given you reason to fear me?”

She shook her head.

“Probably just the opposite, right?” That got a laugh. Well, more of strangled chuckle, but Alistair would take it. “That’s what I thought. I know your position is tenuous. But I’m not the threat here, Anora. It’s all politics. It’s the court -- tradition and inertia. And all that can be manipulated. If we agree together, put on a unified front to decide to be happy, no matter what form that takes, we can do it.”

Her eyes did not soften. She did not nod, or make any kind of conciliatory gesture. But neither did the old contempt cloud her eyes. She just sat there, wooden. 

Alistair patted her arm. “It’s been a long journey. I hope you’ll understand if I take the rest of my meal in my chambers. I think we both have a lot to think about.”

The door burst open just then. Samantha strode in. “My queen, it is time for your treatment. Have you not even eaten?” She glared at Alistair accusingly.

“Treatment? What treatment?” Alistair looked at Anora in concern.

“Don’t concern yourself, your majesty,” Anora said. “It is not serious.”

“Nonsense, if it concerns your health....” he trailed off. 

Anora opened her mouth to answer but it was Samantha who spoke. “With all due respect, your majesty, if you were really concerned about your wife’s pregnancy, you would have stayed by her side, not gone gallivanting off to visit that slut of an elf.”

Anora’s face went pale at the slur. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alistair was glad to know she had limits, at least. “Samantha! Show some respect,” she gasped.

The King rose slowly. He drew in his will and cast Holy Smite, not at the woman - she was too near the queen - but in a circle all around them.  It had been quite a few years, but his anger required no less of a response.  


He was out of practice. Still, several glasses shattered, and all the cutlery and tableware clattered in a loud din. Samantha flinched, then cast her eyes downward. He spoke to her, his voice deadly quiet. “A person should not fear violence from their King, so you face no reprimand from me for your egregious disrespect. But know this: if I ever hear that you’ve slandered the Inquisitor again - and I will hear about it - I will tell  _ her  _ what you’ve said. And then, my dear, you will know fear. She is unstoppable. Ruthless and deadly, there is nowhere her arm does not reach.”

She did not look up. “Most humble apologies, your majesty,” Samantha whispered. 

Alistair glanced down at Anora. She was wide-eyed. And then he saw it in her eyes. Respect. Just a flicker, just a second. But it was there, alongside the confusion. “I apologize if I startled you, my queen.” he said.

There was a long gap between when Anora opened her mouth and when she spoke. “No apologies necessary. Samantha, you are dismissed.” 

The woman looked up, her eyes hard. With a crisp curtsy, she left the chamber.

“Do you need help?” Alistair said, abandoning his kingly persona. “For the, um, treatment thingy?”

Anora shook her head, heaving herself from the chair. Alistair shot out a hand to help her rise. “It is merely a massage. My lower back twinges painfully.”

Alistair winced. “What? Why didn’t you tell me? Do you need a healer? Or - wait, no, what about a hot bath? I can have one drawn for you, in your chamber.” 

Anora laughed. She actually laughed - one short "ha!".  _ At  _ him, true. But it was a real thing. “This is why I didn’t tell you. It’s nothing to worry about. Everything is fine, Alistair.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he said. “Never been a father. Or had one of my own. Not really sure what’s involved.”

“You are making that abundantly clear.” 

For once, he had to admit she had a point.

***

Vira perched on Cullen's desk. A letter had arrived from Alistair, ostensibly for the Commander. It would raise suspicions if he were to suddenly begin corresponding with the Inquisitor. Cullen read it aloud, pausing often to laugh. 

It was full of trivialities, the kinds of things one writes simply to have a letter to send. A rant about Arl Teagan’s woefully inadequate cheese course, remembrances from Alistair’s youth at the castle, a detailed inventory of road conditions between Skyhold and Redcliffe. Though sadly lacking in any real emotional content, Vira nonetheless made Cullen read it twice, then read it through to herself once more. Her eyes drifted to the postscript:

_ P.S. I insist you must come visit in Denerim once the baby is born. If you do not bring half of Skyhold with you, I shall be very displeased. That's a kingly thing to say, right? Face the wrath of my displeasure, etc etc? I expect to see the Inquisitor rather sooner, after she closes the remaining rifts in the Southrons and the Korcari Wilds. Please extend an invitation to her and her companions to visit Denerim. Though, I’ve half a mind to meet her out in the field, just so I can show her the hut where Morrigan grew up. Creepy. I wonder if Flemeth still lives there? Not sure who’s scarier in that scenario. Perhaps it’s a tie. _

“I think I’d actually like to see that,” Vira mused. 

Cullen snorted. “You think she’s still there?”

Vira shook her head. “Probably not. But maybe she left some trinkets behind.”

“You’re not seriously considering looting the home of Mythal, are you?” Cullen blinked. 

“Of course, not, Commander. I merely express interest in saving no-doubt valuable artifacts from potential miscreants.” Vira sniffed daintily.

Cullen laughed. “I wish I could go with you.” 

“I’m sure you do,” she smirked, trailing a finger through his hair. She leaned forward to kiss him. It hadn’t started out as a serious kiss, but it became one at the tiny moan that Cullen made into her lips.

“Maybe we should lock the doors,” Vira grinned. 

Cullen hummed low in his throat, the sound doing all sorts of things to Vira’s body. “I do have a few hours until my next appointment.” 

“Well. Since I’m to see Alistair before you, maybe you should show me just what kind of message you’d like me to pass along,” Vira grinned.

“Why don’t we lock the doors, and I’ll show you?”

It started with a kiss, of course. The end to any long separation between lovers requires a kiss. Cullen, therefore, captured her lips with his own. Gently, sweetly, at least at first. But everyone knows that a long separation also makes one frantic with need, and soon enough the kiss was a greedy thing, lips and teeth and tongue, gasps and moans. His teeth found the soft skin just under her jawline and nipped until she squealed, shivering. Then he traced down the line of her neck, repeating the gesture above her collarbone.

By now his hips were rocking into her. With deft hands he pulled his tunic over his head, pulling away to allow her to do the same. He knelt to suckle at her nipples, first one, then the other. The lips were once again replaced by teeth, and she cried out.

“Does - does he like that?” Vira gasped. 

Cullen nodded, his teeth still clamped on her puckered skin. He let go, the looked up at her face. “He does. And this,” he said, flicking at her nipple with his finger.

“Ungh,” she groaned, her knees trembling. “Do that again,” she demanded.

“That’s what he always says,” Cullen said. He obliged, bringing his other hand up to mirror the gesture.

“Ah!” Vira’s eyes were wide. Her hand snaked to her waistband as she tried to slip inside her trousers.

“Oh no,” Cullen laughed. “None of that.” He batted her hand away, then leaned down, burying his mouth at the juncture of her thighs.

The fabric didn’t allow for much sensation, but the picture of Cullen licking at Alistair’s straining cock through the man’s breeches more than made up for it. She moaned. “I can do that.” 

“Good,” he said, rising. 

They made their way up the ladder, somehow losing the rest of their clothes in the process. Cullen pushed Vira on to the dusty bed. “You’re assuming I have enough patience to wait until there’s a bed available?” Her voice was arch. “I was planning on taking him up against a tree or something.”

“You can do that too,” Cullen smirked. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” 

He stood by the bed, leaning down to retrieve the vial of oil from the nightstand. “Sit,” he said, nodding at the edge of the bed meaningfully. He stood between her legs. “Now, this next part is especially tricky.”

“Should I be taking notes?” Vira grinned, looking up at him. She licked the underside of his stiff length.

“Possibly. Open,” he said, pulling down her chin and slowly inserting himself into her mouth, just enough to be comfortable. “This part I think you know,” he said.

She groaned around his cock, looking up at him through her lashes. With one hand, she twirled his length up and down, following it with her mouth. 

“Ah, Maker, that's it,” he said, letting his eyes close. They stayed like that a long time, until Cullen's breath began to catch in his throat. “Give me your other hand.”

She held it up, feeling him trickle the oil on to her fingers. He spread his legs further. 

His desire was obvious. She brought one finger around to the tight band of muscle, sliding it into him easily. Her fingers were, after all, quite small. The second followed soon after, and now Cullen bucked back on to her hand. 

“More,” he said, his voice thick and ragged.

Three fingers. Cullen leaned forward slightly, then gave a wailing moan. “Ah! There,” he said, shaking, his hips moving, tight little ruts on to her hand. “Oh, Maker, yes, just like that, yes, yes. More, Vira, deeper, ah!”

The pulse of his release was insistent in her mouth, echoed by the throbs which clenched her fingers. Cullen shook, panting sharp and heavy breaths. 

He collapsed on the bed, a satisfied smile on his face. Vira traced the line of his jaw with a finger. “So, that's the message?” 

Cullen nodded into the pillow. 

“And what do you think he’ll tell me in return?” 

Pulling her down with one hand, Cullen rolled to lay between her thighs. His tongue found the hard knot of flesh, swirling at it for a moment before he dipped down to plunge into her. She arched against him, wreathing her fingers through his hair. 

Once again, the thought of Alistair being the one buried between her thighs was almost as good as the actual pleasure Cullen was giving her. She allowed her eyes to fall shut, imagining those laughing brown eyes looking up at her, watching her closely, drinking in the sight of her as she got closer and closer. 

Cullen's tongue began a steady rhythm. Would Alistair’s? Probably not, not at first. He’d take his time, savoring the taste of her, sucking and licking and biting. He’d watch her, listening for her moans, learning the language of her body. 

“Fingers. Please,” Vira gasped, shuddering in satisfaction as Cullen plunged three fingers inside her, just the way she liked, matching the pace of his tongue. Alistair would be more tentative, surely, giving her only one finger, then another as her hips moved against him. And only when she begged for more would he give her what she wanted.

She was close, now, her imagination converging with her reality. “Hard - harder,” she groaned. When Cullen complied, she panted in time to the motion of hand and mouth, feeling the beginning of the peak. Alistair would moan, there would be no doubt. That voice would let her know he wanted her, all of her, wanted to bring her pleasure, to see it on her face, to taste it, to hear it, to make her come.

At that, the waves crashed into her. She bucked against Cullen in a skittering motion, her voice strangled. The shocks clenched through her body, uncontrollable, as Cullen leaned up to lay alongside her. 

He brushed the hair back from her forehead. “Did you get all that? I’d hate to have to repeat myself,” Cullen said.

“Message received, Commander,” Vira laughed. “Loud and clear.”


	14. A Surprise Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vira travels to Denerim and meets Anora.

The ruins of Ostagar were just as dreary as Alistair remembered. He ordered his retinue to make camp on the outskirts, then headed into the tangle of broken buildings, now nearly claimed by the surrounding forest. 

The place made him think of Duncan and Solona. She’d been so confident in her joining, not showing any fear, not like the others. Just drank the blood of the darkspawn. Her hands didn’t even shake. And he still missed Duncan; he hadn’t spent enough time with the man. He was the first to show any confidence in Alistair. Something that important was not soon forgotten.

After a few hours, he wandered back to the camp. His Captain saluted crisply. “Your majesty. Was just heading in to look for you. We’ve a spot of supper on hand, if you’ve a mind.”

“Thank you, Captain Thomas.” They walked towards the fires.

“Any idea of how long it’ll take this Inquisitor to show up?” The Captain’s voice was respectful, but Alistair knew the man chafed at the prospect of simply waiting around.

“Tomorrow or the next day. Most likely. Hard to tell.” Alistair said.

Captain Thomas nodded. “And you’re sure we’re to leave, once she arrives? You’ve no concern for your safety?”

Alistair laughed. “Captain, the woman and her companions saved us from a thousand year old undead Magister with the power of the ancient elves in his fist. I think she can handle a few wolves or bandits.”

“What about the demons, sire?” the Captain frowned.

“I hear she eats them for breakfast,” Alistair grinned. “Trust me. It’ll be fine. I miss adventuring. Just allow a washed-up hero to relive his glory days, won’t you?”

The Captain saluted crisply. “Of course, your majesty.”

Alistair clapped him on the shoulder. “Next time, at least pretend to object when I say I’m washed-up, won’t you?” He winked. 

True to her word, Vira showed up late afternoon the following day. She’d dragged a motley band along - Bull and Dorian, Varric, Seeker Cassandra, the elf Sera and Scout Harding, and Cole. Alistair knew Cullen wouldn’t be among them, but still, there was a tiny pang of disappointment. 

The party came ambling over the nearest hill, riding leisurely as if out for a picnic, not to battle demons in the Korcari Wilds. The sounds of laughter and friendly conversation gave Alistair a warm feeling. He felt himself smiling hugely.

“What, no Blackwall?” Alistair held up a hand to Vira as she dismounted. 

“He’s pretending he has a cold,” Varric called out. “With us out of the way, he has more time to make cow-eyes at his lady-love.”

Vira hopped down from her hart. She gave Alistair a courtly bow, then laughed and hugged him tightly.

The others crowded round, greeting him with handshakes and hugs and bows. Cole produced a stuffed nug from underneath his hat and pressed it into his hands.

Maker, but it felt good to be among friends again. Though it had only been six weeks since he’d left Skyhold, it felt like a year. Things at the castle were better than they’d been in a long while, but by no stretch could the situation be called pleasant. This, though? Gathered together, laughing and talking late into the night, one too many tankards of ale, watching the sparks from the fires rise up to the stars? Surely this is what the Maker had in store for the faithful in the afterlife.

And then it was time to bed. No one even raised an eyebrow as Alistair held the tent flap open for Vira. And oh, it felt good to touch her again. Her taste, and sweet Andraste, her smell, like green leaves and cinnamon and musk. 

They’d never had a proper night with just the two of them, only stolen moments. As a result, there wasn’t much sleep to be had. Just periods of dozing, both of them drifting in and out of slumber, only to be awoken when the other couldn’t resist the temptation to touch, to lick, to nuzzle. 

“Cullen sends his love,” Vira said, late that night, or perhaps early in the morning. “He misses you.”

Alistair drew his thumb up and down her upper arm. “I miss him too. It means more than I can possibly say that we’ve reunited.”

Vira nodded. “Alistair,” she said. “We want to ask you something. Will you... when the time comes, that is, will you marry us?”

He blinked. “Ah, that could be a bit complicated, don’t you think? I’m already married.”

She laughed. “No, I mean, will you perform the ceremony? We can’t very well get married in a Chantry. I follow the elven gods. So it has to be a civil ceremony, and we thought, well, who better?”

He held her close. “It would be my honor and privilege.”

“Good,” Vira said, satisfied.

“Though, you know there’s a good chance the Maker might smite us in holy flame or something. I mean, the whole thing is rather odd.” Alistair grinned, kissing her hair.

“Pssh. The  _ Maker. _ I’ve got muscle of my own protecting me,” Vira joked. 

“Ah, don’t even say that. I’ll break out in hives. I was raised in the Chantry, you know.”

The next morning, Alistair definitely did not want to leave the tent. He knew the sun was up; the light slanted through the seam in the fabric, hitting him right in the eyes. And of course he could hear the sounds of Varric arguing with Sera about the best way to cook breakfast. He wondered if perhaps some sort of petition could be drafted, granting them the right to stay in bed all day.

Outside, someone jiggled the tent flap. “Rise and shine, lovelies,” Dorian's voice called out. “Time enough for caboodling later, once the demons are dead.”

“Can I kill him? Is that allowed?” Alistair groaned, throwing an arm across his eyes.

Vira kissed the underside of his bicep, nudging it away to gain access to his mouth. It was a few minutes before she replied. “I’m sorry, but no,” she sighed. “He’s rather important, I’m afraid.”

“Shame,” Alistair said, sitting up. He ruffled a hand through his hair, sending it to burnished red spikes. 

“Come on. We’ve got to get up. I want to get these rifts over and done with.”

It was still relatively early by the time they set out. Thanks to Lace’s excellent scouting skills, they found the first rift quite easily. Alistair had armed and armored himself, but there was no need. The party dealt with the rift with clockwork precision. It was probably second nature to them by now. Still, seeing them in action was awe-inspiring. 

Over the next week, they worked their way through the Korcari Wilds, the Southrons, and finally the Brecilian Forest. It was definitely the most fun Alistair had ever experienced in any situation involving demons. It was also far and away more fun than the previous decade spent in Denerim. 

The city drew near. After close to two weeks in the field, Vira and the others were very much looking forward to things like proper baths and beds. Alistair, of course, was dreading his return. It had been so wonderful to not have to hide, to pretend. The moment they came within sight of the gates, Alistair and Vira would have to pull on their masks. Any time together was better than nothing, but still. The pretense galled him.

Anora was waiting to greet them at the palace gates. She bowed and embraced her husband formally, the minimum affection required. Somehow, he managed to introduce the Inquisitor while simultaneously holding his breath. Not sure how that worked, exactly, but he got the job done. 

Predictably, Anora was cold and formal. Vira was, as well. After all, it was the two most powerful people in the country meeting for the first time. One could hardly expect them to be friendly. This wasn’t Orlais - no one awarded extra points in Ferelden for false familiarity.

And then, thank the Maker, it was over. Anora withdrew and the members of the Inquisition party were led to their quarters. Alistair was careful to not look longingly over his shoulder as Vira walked away. Instead, he made his way to his own rooms, to bathe and catch up on correspondence before dinner.

Anora’s advanced pregnancy provided the perfect excuse to avoid a formal state dinner. Instead, she would join Alistair and the Inquisitor’s party in the smaller private dining room, for as long as she felt able. Alistair gave it until just after the soup course.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. There was no way for her to dampen his enthusiasm for a good meal among friends. He was prepared for her to try, of course. When she arrived, accompanied by her lady-in-waiting (thankfully not the sour-faced Samantha, but a shy and retiring girl named Lisbeth), she had a wary look on her face. Alistair had very carefully arranged for Dorian to sit near to the Queen, and for Scout Harding to take a spot next to Lisbeth. 

Amazingly, Anora sat through hors d’oeuvres and soup and the fish course. Not only that, she appeared to... well, she wasn’t having fun, necessarily, but she certainly wasn’t suffering. Alistair thought he saw her begin to smile several times. He made a mental note to get something nice for Dorian, who was blasting her with the full extent of his prodigious charm. 

Varric launched into a story about Hawke, a slightly bawdy tale involving a brothel in Kirkwall. “So then - and you’re going to love this bit, your majesty, and you too, Freckles - then the Champion says, ‘I don't think anyone's looking at their shoes.’” Varric said, barely getting the words out before choking with laughter.

Everyone laughed. Well, except Cole. “I don’t understand. Why  _ weren’t _ they looking at their shoes?” This, of course, just made everyone laugh harder.

Alistair wiped his eyes, still chuckling, then froze, when it hit him: Anora was laughing.

Anora was  _ laughing. _

Anora “Ice Queen For Life” Therein, was laughing, at a joke about courtesans no less. And what’s more, she caught his eye and continued to laugh, helplessly, shaking with it as she looked at him. 

He couldn’t help it. He found himself grinning at her, caught up in whatever bubble of delight she was trapped in. 

“Master Tethras, I will admit, that is the finest story about a brothel that I’ve ever heard,” Anora said.

“I live but to serve, your majesty.” Varric said, bowing his head in exaggerated humility.

Cassandra smacked him on the shoulder. “I cannot believe you told that story to the Queen of Ferelden.”

“What? It’s funny!” Varric protested.

“Did my ears deceive me, or did you refer to King Alistair as ‘Freckles’?” Anora’s mouth curved into a grin. She looked like a totally different person when she smiled, Alistair realized. Or maybe she just looked like a person, period.

“Ah,” Varric stammered, looking at the King. “My apologies, your majesty. I meant no disrespect to your husband.”

“It’s a thing, my Queen,” Dorian drawled. “Gives us all little nicknames. Terrible habit.”

“Really? Please tell me more,” Anora said, her eyes lighting up.

Varric looked stricken. For once, he was speechless. Dorian, however, was not. He pointed to himself and the others in turn. “Sparkler, Tiny, Seeker, Freckles, Her Inquisitorialness, Kid, Buttercup, Sunny.” Dorian listed them all off. 

“How absolutely enchanting,” Anora said. “Have you come up with one for me?”

“Oh, your majesty, I would never presume to be so familiar,” Varric said, holding up his hands.

“Nonsense. I insist. You’ve already thought of one, haven’t you? Don’t lie to me,” Anora said, a smile in her voice. 

“Yes, Varric, I think I’d like to hear this,” Alistair grinned. “I could just ask Cole, if you’d prefer. I’m sure he already knows, don’t you?” He turned to the spirit, whose mouth was already open to answer.

“Fine, fine. Put me on the spot, why don’t you. I was thinking Snapdragon. Because you’re beautiful as a flower, and powerful as a dragon.”

“I like it,” Bull grinned in approval.

“You just like dragons,” Cassandra said with a disgusted grunt.

“What’s not to like?” he countered.

Anora’s eyes had widened. “Well. That's certainly... a flattering description. And with that, I feel I must make my apologies. I need more sleep than before,” she said, stroking her stomach. “It has been a pleasure to dine with you. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Freckles for the evening.” She rose and bowed, the movement made awkward by her girth, then took her leave.

“I never realized how pretty she was,” Sera said, starry-eyed. Alistair wondered if that’d been why the elf was so quiet during dinner.

“Hey!” Scout Harding protested.

“Well, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Harding nodded, grinning a bit. “But not as pretty as you.”

There was a chorus of “aww”s, that quickly became “please dear Maker no”s as the elf kissed Scout Harding deeply, practically climbing into her lap.

Alistair was still in shock. Nothing about what had just happened made sense. He stole a look at Vira. She was considering him calmly, deep in thought, though she smiled gently as she caught his glance.

***

The bell tower tolled three times. Anora waited in her personal drawing room as the minutes ticked by. There was a breeze coming in from the tall windows off the courtyard. Samantha clucked her tongue as the draperies billowed.

“Your majesty, you’ll catch your death,” she chided.

“Samantha, it’s August. And I’m seven months pregnant. Leave it.” Anora said.

The woman sighed in frustration but bowed her head. “As you say, my Queen.”

The minutes continued their forward motion.

“Where is she?” Samantha burst out. She leapt up and began to pace. “Why would she insist on a private meeting and then keep you waiting?”

Anora sighed heavily. “I do so hate tardiness.”

“She’s doing it on purpose. How disrespectful,” Samantha’s voice was scathing. “Your majesty, this is an outrage. Do you think she kept Celene waiting? She’s just rubbing your nose in it, now. Everyone’s heard the rumors about her and the King -”

“I’m well aware of the rumors, thank you,” Anora said. “You need not remind me.”

“But how can you  _ stand  _ it?” Samantha fumed. “It’s a slap in the face! No human commoner would dare to -”

“Are we on the elf thing, again, Sam?” Anora’s voice was weary. “You do tend to let your prejudices show.”

“Filthy knife-ears,” Samantha muttered.

“My darling Samantha. You’d do well to remember that the only reason you still have a position here is because we grew up together. I’ll not tolerate such language.” Anora said firmly. 

The sound of a throat clearing made them both jump. Vira was sitting, lounging really, on a chaise behind them.

Samantha went pale. She raised the back of her hand to her forehead and slumped to the ground in a heap.

Vira snorted. “Does that convince anyone? Ever? Fainting people aren’t usually so melodramatic. They just fall over.” She stood up and nudged Samantha with her toe.

The lady-in-waiting feigned regaining consciousness. Vira rolled her eyes as the woman sat up.

Anora rubbed at her forehead with one hand. “Samantha, you’re dismissed. For the rest of the week. Please, take the time to consider how badly you’ve embarrassed me. Perhaps when you’ve returned you’ll have learned some tact.”

The sour-faced woman glared at Vira and flounced out.

“She forgot to curtsy,” Vira noted.

“Inquisitor,” Anora said, hauling herself to her feet. Vira waved her down. “I thank you. Still, was there a reason for this little display of stealth? Startling a woman in late pregnancy is not recommended.”

“Creators, I didn’t even think of that,” Vira said, wide-eyed. She tumbled backwards to sit. “I am so sorry. Fenedhis. I...” She blinked, speechless for a moment. “Yet... you don’t seem terribly startled, your majesty.”

Anora shrugged. “I’m well aware of your capabilities. Trust me, had I your skills in stealth, I would put them to use.”

“Still. I shouldn’t have put the baby at risk. It’s probably no surprise that I don’t think on those terms.” Vira admitted.

“Most don’t. Until they have to.” 

Vira’s laugh was bitter. “So much for brinksmanship. I’d intended to throw you off balance, see what you’re like without anyone around. But I have the feeling you’ve just learned as much about me.”

Anora smiled. “Perhaps. You seem very concerned about my unborn child. Since we’ve just met, that means you’re either exquisitely concerned with the Therein legacy, which seems unlikely. What is more likely is that you’re concerned for the man who sired the baby.”

Vira found herself smiling as well. The considered each other for a moment. “Well,” Vira said finally. “Shall we cut the bullshit, then?” 

Anora laughed, throwing her head back. “I think I’d like that. Do you mind if I call for a snack? I’m hungry constantly, but I can only eat a little at a time.”

“By all means.”

A few moments later they settled around a tea-tray. Anora poured a measure of chamomile and mint tea into their cups. “So. I’m to understand you and Alistair are....” Anora left it hanging.

“That is the rumor, yes,” Vira said. “Does that bother you?”

“Should it? Affairs among royalty are only of concern when they result in an upset in the balance of power.” Anora’s look was direct.

“I have no desire for more power. I also have no desire to upset the political balance by backing one horse over another.” Vira said. “It is a personal relationship, only. Or it would be, if such rumors were to be believed.”

“Of course,” Anora said with a smirk. “If such scandalous nonsense were true, it would explain the marked change I’ve noticed in my dear spouse since he returned. He speaks of such foreign concepts as ‘happiness’ and ‘freedom’. Do you know, the first night he returned, I caught him juggling?”

Vira snorted into her tea. “He wasn’t juggling cheese, was he?”

It was Anora’s turn to laugh. “Apples. And then, when my tactless lady-in-waiting made a slur against the Inquisitor, he cast Holy Smite at the dinner service. Broke half of the good crystal goblets.”

“Not subtle, is our Freckles?” Vira winced, setting down her teacup.

“That is not one of his virtues, no.” Anora said. She sighed deeply. “We’ve been utterly miserable, you know. I treated him terribly. I’m not proud of that.”

“I came fully prepared to hate you,” Vira admitted. “I practiced scowling and everything.”

Anora snickered. “I can’t begin to imagine what he told you,” the queen said. “Probably all deserved.”

Vira shrugged. “He said you were moderately terrible, it’s true. But he also made a point to tell me how difficult it’s been for you. He does tend to see the best in people.”

Anora chuckled. “It’s true. He’s like a puppy confused to find itself trapped in the body of a man.”

That was apparently the wrong moment to take a bite of teacake. Vira choked on the crumbs as she laughed. “Fenedhis, yes. How he ever got to be so good at chess, I’ll never know.”

“Alistair plays chess?” Anora blinked in surprise.

Vira’s grin was wide. “Quite well, your majesty.”

“Will wonders never cease,” she said. “I had no idea.”

The bell tolled four times. “I suppose I should let you get some rest before dinner,” Vira said, rising. “Your majesty, I sincerely offer my most humble apologies for startling you earlier,” she said, bowing deeply. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“Only if you promise to call me Anora,” the Queen said. 

“Not snapdragon?” Vira grinned. 

“Someday you’ll have to tell me what he was really going to say. Snapdragon? He can do better than that. I read Tale of the Champion.” 

Vira gave a tilt of the head and headed for the door.

“Inquisitor,” Anora called out. 

Vira turned. “Yes?”

“I assume you’ll see Freckles before I do. A few months ago he asked me a question. Tell him.... tell him I’m thinking about it.” The Queen said, her face thoughtful.

“Of course, your majesty,” Vira said with a respectful bow. 


	15. What's in a Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vira and Cullen meet little baby Theirin.

The royal declaration arrived with little pomp and circumstance. Aside from the Theirin seal and the rich silk ribbon which bound the scroll, it could’ve been any bit of correspondence, really, lumped in with the rest of the letters Josephine received on a daily basis.

This was, however, the birth announcement for Alistair and Anora, King and Queen of Ferelden. Anora had given birth, ten days prior, and was resting comfortably with her daughter.

“A baby girl?” Vira grinned. “Really?” Her voice was squeaky.

“I know!” Josie matched her tone. They grasped each other’s hands in excitement, grinning madly.

Cullen grinned, as much from their reaction as the good news. Even Varric was smiling ear to ear. “Well, shit. A little girl. How do you like that? Think she’ll be a redhead or a blond?”

“Oh, I must go to Val Royeaux at once. I have gifts to purchase,” Josie fretted.

“Vira, you okay?” Varric said, looking at her closely.

“What? Oh, yes. Yes. Sorry. I just got excited,” she said, concentrating on the map.

Cullen caught the hint of shine in her eyes, and quickly changed the subject. “Well, aside from that news, is there anything else? I have two rounds of troop inspections today. If it takes too long, I’ll be late to chess with Dorian. And you know how he pouts.”

The council adjourned. Commander Cullen made his way down to the barracks to perform troop inspections. It was largely a formality at this point; his officers were more than capable. Still, it was important to show his face.

He had secretly come to hate the inspections. It reminded him of how big his army had become, and by extension, the Inquisition. Time was, he knew every troop and recruit by face, if not name. Those early days in Haven, when he struggled to get a sword in every hand, were among his proudest. Now, his forces could rival any army in Thedas. Without a war to fight, a standing army could make its own trouble. As the saying went, when you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail. The Inquisition was now in possession of a very, very large hammer.

Dorian was waiting for him when he arrived in the garden. “I thought you were going to keep me waiting all day,” he drawled.

“Sorry. The troops get a disappointed if I don’t spot at least some imperfections. I had to go through twice to find someone with rusty chainmail.” Cullen took his seat.

“Mmm,” Dorian said. “I’m sure everyone puts on their shiniest bits for their handsome Commander.”

Cullen snorted a laugh.

“So,” Dorian said. “A girl.”

“Word travels fast.”

The mage shrugged. “Josie seldom gets so excited but when there’s a squalling, putrid baby involved.”

“True.” Cullen selected a pawn and put it into play.

“How’s Vira handling it?”

Cullen sighed. “I’m not sure. Haven’t seen her since we found out. It’s hard, I think, since she can’t have any of her own.”

“I imagine it would be. Though, you know, we may be able to get around that. I have some ideas.” Dorian noted, sliding his rook across the tiles.

“Really?” Cullen blinked in surprise.

“Yes, of course,” Dorian said. “It’s elven magic. We ‘Vints are nothing if not innovative when it comes to adapting elven magic.”

“I’m sure Solas would have some retort,” Cullen smiled.

“Pfft. No doubt.”

***

The naming ceremony was scheduled for the third month after the baby was born, as was customary in Ferelden. Contrary to Josie’s worrying, there was plenty of time to shop for gifts and still travel to Denerim.

The whole of the Inquisition inner circle had journeyed to the celebration, at Alistair’s express invitation. Leliana would also be meeting them there.

There was no word on whether Morrigan would be in attendance.

As Denerim loomed closer, Vira tugged her robes straight, sitting up in her saddle.

“You’ll rip your clothes,” Varric said, riding alongside her on his pony. “Stop fidgeting. You look beautiful.”

“I’m not fidgeting,” Vira snapped, shifting in her saddle.

Varric did his best to pass his laugh off as a cough.

After the official welcome in the courtyard, there was a flurry of activity - horses to stable, bags to unpack, and everyone and their mother’s uncle had to bathe. Vira hurried through her bath, then wreathed herself in shadow, picking through the hallways to Cullen's room and letting herself in.

Under different circumstances, having separate quarters from Cullen would have rankled Vira to no end, a sign of blatant disrespect to them both. In truth Vira was grateful. The King could feel free to visit his old friend Cullen without causing too much fuss, whereas he’d never be able to come to Vira’s room.

The Commander was there, as was the King. Alistair was groaning with Cullen pinned on top of him. He bucked his hips insistently, rutting against the king’s cock, still trapped in his breeches. Cullen had the front of Alistair’s tunic open and was pinching one of the man’s nipples, twisting it until he squealed.

Vira’s breath shuddered in her chest and a pool of heat settled between her legs. Alistair was close, staring almost in panic into Cullen's eyes. Vira knew that look well. Almost without her volition, her hand slipped down into her trousers so that she could touch herself. And then Cullen was kissing Alistair, swallowing the man’s moans, still rocking against him.

An enormous shudder ran through Alistair as Cullen brought him to his release. Vira moaned quietly, biting her lip as the King squirmed.

The sound got Cullen's attention. His amber eyes were almost all pupil; he was panting. “I need you,” he groaned to her.

Vira stumbled towards them, shedding her clothes. Cullen, meanwhile, had pulled open Alistair’s breeches and was licking away the mess that had pooled before it soaked the fabric.

“Where?” Vira asked.

“On the bed. Kneel,” Cullen said, rising off of the still-recovering King. He peeled out of his trousers and knelt behind Vira.

They were too desperate for lengthy foreplay. Cullen simply reared upwards, pressing into her slick folds, growling and biting her shoulder.

Cullen's thrusts were shallow and fast; he was too close to do much more. And then Vira felt Alistair’s tongue press against her, sucking at the knot of flesh, the motion of her body serving to grind against him. She could do little more than give herself to their ministrations, a continuous stream of _yesyesyes_ marking the steady increase of her arousal.

From Cullen's groan, Alistair was having an affect on the Commander as well. “Come, Vira,” he said into her ear. “I’m so close. I can’t wait, good girl. Come for me.” He took the tip of her ear in between his teeth, worrying gently at the stiff peak.

“Fuck!” Vira gasped. The orgasm tore through her like a bolt of lightning, hard and sharp. She felt Cullen pull out of her just as his own spasms began. Alistair lapped at them both. It took a second for her brain to understand the sound she was hearing. The King was laughing as he continued to lick their now-sensitive flesh.

“What’s so funny?” Vira gasped, her voice all breath.

Alistair sat up, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “That was, without a doubt, the most filthy thing I’ve ever done in my life. I can’t wait to do it again.”

“Give us a minute,” Cullen chuckled.

Alistair folded them both in a hug. “Welcome to Denerim, my loves,” he said. “I missed you.”

***

Alistair was unaccountably nervous. He and Anora sat in a side antechamber in the Chantry, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Well, Anora sat, the picture of maternal bliss, rocking their daughter gently.

Alistair tried to sit, but kept hopping up to pace.

“Alistair, really. Please try to calm yourself. Why are you so jumpy?” Anora asked, her voice placid. “I told you, it’s a perfectly lovely tribute. No one will blink at the name. It's pronounced completely differently. I wouldn’t have let you make a fool of yourself.”

“Or of you, either.” Alistair noted.

“The thought had not escaped me.” Anora grinned. “Now stop worrying.” Anora said.

“Right, right. Stop worrying. Sorry, how do you do that again?” Alistair adopted an exaggerated look of confusion.

Anora laughed. It was still such a new thing, having her actually laugh at his jokes. He had to say, it’d really taken the edge off the last few months. Not openly loathing your spouse tends to help things along.

The sound of the chanters interrupted them. Anora rose and stepped calmly up to the door Alistair held for her. Shifting the baby in her arms, she smoothed down the front of his hair. “It started sticking up again,” she frowned. “Stop playing with it.”

“Yes, Queen Anora,” Alistair said, obedience dripping from his voice.

“Brat.”

They took their places on either side of the altar. The ceremony was interminable, as all Chantry events tended to be. The Chantry Mother quoted from the Chant of Light, and then there was more singing, then a sermon about the joys of raising a child in the Maker’s light, then _more_ singing, then praying, then finally, _finally,_ it was time to baptize the child in Andraste’s holy flame. Anora and Alistair rose, bringing the baby to the altar.

The Queen and the Mother stood on either side of the bowl of holy flame. The child was passed over the fire from mother to Mother, and then back again, while Alistair looked on. And it was time for Alistair to announce the baby’s name.

He cleared his throat. “Solona Viratha Theirin.”

Though he’d told himself a thousand times that he wouldn’t, Alistair nonetheless stole a look at Vira as she sat in the pews. Her expression didn’t change, though she sat up just a bit straighter and blinked several times, as if rousing herself from a daydream. She did not meet his eye, but he saw her hand reach for Cullen's and grasp it.

And then more singing. Never enough singing in the Chantry. Alistair and Anora had to stand there until the final strains were sung, and the Chantry Mother closed the ceremony with a final blessing. Thank the Maker. Nervousness was one thing; the unbearably itchy mantle round his shoulders was another.

After, there was a reception for a select few guests of the King and Queen. It wasn’t exactly a private affair; there were enough courtiers present that open affection would be frowned upon. Alistair did his best to look calm and casual. His best wasn’t very good - he shifted from foot to foot nervously as members of the court made their way through the reception line. Finally, Alistair and Anora were left alone for a moment. Vira sauntered up, grinning.

“Your majesties, may I offer my most sincere congratulations.” Vira bowed deeply, with the grace of the Dalish.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. And what do you think of our daughter’s name?” Anora asked. “It was a matter of some consternation for my dear King.”

Alistair rolled his eyes, mostly for show. There was no malice in Anora’s voice. Now that they’d reached a tentative accord, their bickering was a source of amusement for them both.

“I cannot speak for the Hero of Ferelden, having never met her, but any woman would be touched by such a loving tribute.” Vira said, her eyes sparkling.

“That’s what I told him,” Anora said, blinking pointedly at Alistair.

“When are they bringing the cheese ‘round?” Alistair sighed, looking out into the reception.

Dorian and the Iron Bull arrived then, and began fussing over the baby.

“Aw, look at her little pink shoes,” Bull grinned. He pulled gently at Solona’s foot, hardly bigger than the pad of the man’s thumb. The baby cooed, grasping upwards.

“I think you’ve made a friend,” Dorian drawled, raising an eyebrow. “Must be your shared passion for all things pink.” The mage regarded the baby with suspicion. Vira figured he was probably afraid she might spit up on his robes.

“I _like_ pink.” Bull growled firmly.

Solona looked over at Dorian and scrunched up her face.

“That’s right. Don’t let the scary mage and his unnatural hatred of pink scare you, little one. You and I have good taste.” Bull said.

“Speaking of scary mages, I don’t suppose our little bundle of joy has magical aptitude?” Dorian said.

Anora looked at him blankly. “A bit early for her to be showing signs, isn’t it?”

Dorian looked around in shock. “What, are you joking? By the Maker, you southerners have things backwards. You just wait around for children to manifest their magic?”

At the confused glances which were exchanged around him, Dorian rolled his eyes. “Vishante kaffas.”

“Hey! Don’t curse around the baby,” Bull chided him.

“Is there some way to tell before that?” Vira frowned. “I’ve never heard of it in the Dalish clans, either.”

Dorian huffed in consternation. “It’s part of our baptism ceremony, a blessing, though most perform it right after the baby is born. There are rumors among the more rabid altus families that infants that have no ability are quietly passed off to Soporati to raise, covering the whole thing with a story about ‘complications during childbirth’.”

“What, really?” Anora gasped.

“What’s going on?” Cullen wandered up. He held a plate heaped with a variety of cheese, which he wordlessly handed to the King.  

“Dorian’s apoplectic about the backwards south,” Vira explained.

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Is that different from normal?”

“Fine, fine. Let’s all play ‘Taunt the Tevinter’. I was going to offer to perform the blessing, but Maker _forbid_ my benighted northern ways rub off.”

Anora was laughing through the whole exchange. “Well, I certainly would hate to turn down a blessing, when it’s offered with such magnanimity. Alistair, do you have any objections?”

He shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t hurt her. Er, it doesn’t, does it? Not like blood magic or anything?”

“Oh for - _no._ We don’t perform blood rituals on infants.” Dorian fumed. “We also don’t eat them for breakfast, in case you were wondering.”

“No? I could’ve sworn...” Cullen smirked.

Dorian huffed with frustration. “All it does is make the latent mana visible. See, look. I’ll do it on myself.” He gestured, marking a sigil on his forehead. The symbol glowed briefly. The he reached up to Cullen and repeated the gesture; nothing happened. “See? Perfectly safe.”

Anora gestured at the cradle. “I would be honored for Solona to receive the Tevinter blessing, Dorian.”

“Thank you. At least someone knows how to accept a gesture gracefully.” Dorian sniffed.

He traced the pattern on the baby’s head. It glowed, not as strongly as Dorian, but it was visible.

There was a moment where time seemed to stand still.

“No,” Anora whispered. “There must be a mistake. Do it again,” she insisted.

“I assure you, there’s no -” Dorian began, but one look at the Queen’s pale, panicked face, and the Tevinter complied. Once again, the symbol glowed on Solona’s tiny forehead. The baby cooed and smiled up at them.

Alistair’s hands shook. “Maker’s breath. She’s... she’s going to be a mage?” He looked at the others.

Anora looked like she might vomit, and Cullen's face was drawn with concern. Bull, Vira, and Dorian seemed unconcerned. Vira, in fact, was smiling, just a bit. “A mage. She’s going to be a _mage.”_ She whispered the words to herself, her gaze far away. Her smile widened further.

Anora looked horrified. “How is that _possible?_ There isn’t a drop of magical blood in my line, nor in the Theirin line.” She frowned up at Alistair, the unspoken accusation heavy in the air.

Alistair winced. “It could be from my mother. I’m still not sure who she is. It’s possible she was a mage.”

The Queen was scanning the room. “Did anyone else see? We must keep this a secret. Andraste’s ass, this is a _disaster.”_

“I beg your pardon,” Dorian objected.

“This isn’t the north, Dorian.” Anora snapped. “Solona must rule Ferelden one day. A mage as queen? People might not accept it.” Anora bit her lip.

“You’ve got a good twenty years to let that sort itself out.” Vira pointed out.

Alistair had gone utterly pale as a thought dawned on him. “But where will she learn magic? We have no circles. Maker’s breath. I won’t let what happened to Connor happen to her.”

“Will everyone just calm down?” Bull grunted. “You’re drawing attention to yourselves. Not to mention upsetting the baby.” He reached into the cradle and hoisted the now-fussing Solona up to his shoulder. “C’mere, little one. Let’s go for a walk.”

Vira laid a hand on Alistair’s arm. “It’ll be fine, Alistair. We won’t let that happen. Right, Dorian?” Her grin had dimmed, but was still very much in evidence.

“Hmm?” Dorian was looking over at Bull, who was gently rocking the baby in his huge hands. The mage stared, a mix of confusion and wonder on his face as his lover cooed at the little girl, singing to her in Qunlat.

“You’ll teach Solona, won’t you?” Vira said.

“What? Oh, of course! I’d be happy to have her as a pupil. I’m establishing a College of Magi, you know,” he said to Anora. “Not one of your dreadful little mage prisons, either. A proper school, bringing together all of the finest traditions and schools of magic in Thedas. Tevinter, Nevarra, Dalish, Orlais, Rivain, Ferelden. All of the good, none of the bad.”

“Really?” Alistair blinked.

“Oh yes. I’d planned to go back to Tevinter, but Vira convinced me to stay on here, as the Inquisition’s Grand Enchanter. She can be so persuasive,” Dorian said, his gaze somehow slipping back to Bull, who was bouncing the babe in his arms. He roused himself. “The official announcement is in the works. Josephine’s all set to spread the word once we get back to Skyhold. Solona will have the finest magical education in Thedas, I assure you. I... would you excuse me for a second?” Dorian hurried away to join Bull, who had begun to dance, twirling around with Solona. The baby’s delighted giggles were clearly audible.

Alistair began to relax. Dorian was the most talented mage he’d ever met. Solona would be in good hands. Though Maker only knew how the people would come to accept her. Still, Vira was right. There was time to plan. At least now they had some advance warning. Anora looked slightly more at ease as well. Spots of color had returned to her cheeks, at any rate.

“Something tells me Blackwall’s going to have another griffon to carve,” Cullen said, noting the smile on Dorian's face.

***

It was later. Cullen was changing out of his dress uniform in his quarters, Vira lounging on the bed. At the knock on the door, she wreathed herself in shadow. Maker’s breath. It always gave him the shivers, when she did that. Uncanny.

He opened the door to Alistair. “Your majesty. To what do I owe this visit?” Cullen kept his voice formal for the edification of the guard in the hallway.

“Just catching up with an old friend. If you have a moment, that is.”

Cullen held the door wide, and shut it firmly. “I have many moments for you, in fact.” He drew the King in for a kiss.

It went on for some time. It would’ve gone on for much longer, but Alistair pulled away. “Is Vira here?”

The derisive snort from the bed in the corner answered the question for Cullen.

“Good, good.” Alistair clutched the hair at his forehead, sending it straight up. He took a deep breath. “I have something to tell you both. I... there’s no easy way to say this.”

“What? What is it?” Vira said, a tinge of panic coloring her voice.

Cullen led Alistair to the bed and sat him down. The King wrung his hands, his eyes trained on the fingers as they clenched and unclenched. “I’m a father now,” he said. “I never had one of my own. Quite an amazing thing, fatherhood. I know the three of us had some wild ideas about me running away to Skyhold. Anora’s decided she wants to rule; it’s all she knows, and let’s face it, she’s more capable than I am. So I could step down, name her Regent. But... I can’t. I can’t do that. I can’t leave my daughter. She deserves to have a father, even one as stupid and clumsy as I am.”

With a deep breath, Alistair raised his eyes.

Cullen had prepared himself for this moment. He knew it was coming; it was just a question of when. Whatever the three of them shared, it couldn’t possibly sustain itself over the long term. The only question had been which _particular_ straw would break the camel’s back. And there were so many to choose from: politics, distance, and now fatherhood. It had truly been just a dream. Cullen had always known he would have to wake up eventually.

Knowledge only gets you so far, though. The cold tendrils that snaked up from his stomach to clench around his heart didn’t care that he knew it was coming. “Of course. Of course,” he nodded. “That... that makes perfect sense.”

“We can still see each other, can’t we?” Alistair’s voice had the ragged edge of desperation to it.

Cullen almost gave in then, almost blurted out what he knew in his heart: dragging it out would only make it harder. He could see it unfolding before him - the slow slide as life inevitably got in the way. The letters that came less frequently and finally stopped. The distance that would no doubt grow between them, until they were just going through the motions. Or worse, that one of them would become a wedge between the other two. Unlike Alistair and Vira, Cullen had experienced it, at Kinloch. The demons didn’t merely torture with visions of happiness, but visions of despair as well. He’d gotten to experience every possible way this could go wrong.

But now, looking at Alistair, seeing the desperation on the man’s face, Cullen just couldn’t bring himself to say it. He mustered a half a smile. “Try and keep me away. I have an army, you know. I’ll invade if I have to.”

Vira was looking between them skeptically. “You know, I think you both missed something significant this afternoon.”

“Um, what _wasn’t_ significant? I rather think everything that's happened since the sun came up qualifies.” Alistair said.

“Solona will be a mage. Someday.” Vira said.

Comprehension began to seep into Cullen's mind. The icy tingling melted into relieved warmth. “Maker’s breath,” he breathed. “Why didn’t we see that right away?”

Alistair shook his head. “See what?”

“The College Dorian is establishing is going to be at Skyhold.” Vira said. “Solona is going to _live_ there. When she comes into her magic, that is. Granted, it's probably seven or eight years away. But that's not a lifetime. I’m certainly willing to wait, especially for something so worthwhile. And it might be good to have her come visit for a month or two at a time, get used to the place, until then.”

Alistair had begun to grin, the poorly-hidden anguish melting away into hope.

Vira continued. “I don’t think anyone would blink if her devoted father came to visit with her, and then to oversee her education personally. Especially not a former Grey Warden, who abdicated his throne to find a cure for the Calling.”

“Wait, what? I’m doing what?”

Vira laughed. “You don’t think I’ll let you just sit around and freeload, do you? You join the Inquisition, you earn your place. King or no King.”

He laughed, and the sound was so joyful that Cullen found himself laughing too. Alistair leapt up and embraced them both. They stood there for a long moment, giddy with relief.

Once again, Cullen was reminded of Kinloch, this time of the perfect future the demons concocted. At the time, those hallucinations seemed so vivid. Now, in the moment, Cullen could see the reality was so, so much more. Whatever lingered of that false, demon-haunted world was shattered by the tiny details that assaulted his senses: Vira’s scent of leaves and cinnamon combined with the musky soap-and-sandalwood of Alistair; the way Vira’s small fingers clutched at the small of his back, while Alistair drew his thumb back and forth against the nape of Cullen's neck; the sounds of their laughter giving way to relieved sighs and then back to echoes of laughter again. There was no mistaking it for anything but truth, and for the first time, Cullen could breathe out without fear that the next inhale would signal the beginning of the end.

After a long moment, Alistair spoke. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a cheesemaker?” he asked. “The Calling thing sounds like spending a lot of time with Dagna shoving needles into me. I hate needles.”

“We’ll talk,” Vira said, winking up at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, you guys, I am so, so sorry. I had all these grand plans for the end, and from what I can tell, Trespasser ruined all of them. I mean, there's headcanon, and there's headcanon, you know? So, this is what we got. I hope people aren't too disappointed! I did my best.


End file.
